


Love and A Little Bit of Science

by yeahloads



Series: look at everything we've grown [4]
Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Beta Jeff, Established Relationship, IVF, M/M, Miscarriage, Mpreg, Mpreg Harry, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Harry, Pure Niche Self Indulgence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-02
Updated: 2019-11-02
Packaged: 2021-01-20 23:07:21
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 6
Words: 91,307
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21289676
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeahloads/pseuds/yeahloads
Summary: Jeff and Harry want to start a family. It takes them a little while to get there, with a few added surprises along the way.
Relationships: Jeff Azoff/Harry Styles
Series: look at everything we've grown [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1248533
Comments: 14
Kudos: 75
Collections: 1D Niche Fic Fest





	1. Preheat Your Oven

**Author's Note:**

> So, here it is. In its entirety, what has colloquially become known as the 'Hazoff Big Fic' is finally complete. I would like to start off by thanking Madelyn, who is an excellent friend, and who has provided endless help on this fic. Without them, this fic wouldn't have have been possible, plain and simple. I also would like to thank anyone and everyone who has supported this fic. Whether you've been here since day 1, when it was just an idea on tumblr, or someone new, thank you. This has been a labor of love. This story feels like MY baby. I hope you all enjoy it.
> 
> Now for some details. This fic deals with multiple miscarriages. I've tried to handle the subject matter as delicately and respectfully as possible. It has not been my intention to romanticize it. If it's something you'd rather not read about, this might not be the fic for you. There are also discussions of medical procedures, blood mentions, detailed descriptions of grief, drug use, and natural male childbirth, so keep those things in mind before deciding to read. 
> 
> Any thoughts and comments are greatly appreciated. Come talk to me on tumblr at [harryseyebrows](http://www.harryseyebrows.tumblr.com)!
> 
> [Fic Playlist](https://music.apple.com/us/playlist/h-j/pl.u-qxylEeMFdkKZM5)
> 
> [Fic Post/Moodboard](https://harryseyebrows.tumblr.com/post/189083806154/love-and-a-little-bit-of-science-jeffharry-91k)

***

62 Rosewood Ave - North Tustin - May 26, 2018

“Did you bring the—”

“Plant for my mom? Yes. It’s in the backseat.”

Like Harry doesn’t trust him, he turns around to check for himself. “And the—” 

“Cam’s shirt is also in the back, in the pocket behind your seat,” Jeff says coolly.

Harry folds his arms across his chest and huffs. He turns to look out the window. 

Jeff’s mouth quirks up into a small smile. “Why’re you all twisted up? It’s just my parents’ house. You _ have _been there before. Many times.”

Despite his best efforts to stay entirely focused on the road, Jeff can’t help the way he tracks Harry’s movements as he shifts in his seat and rolls his eyes. 

“Yeah, well. The last time we were there I got interrogated on why we’re not married yet. _ And _ one of your sisters kept giving me like, the evil eye.”

Jeff snorts. “I don’t think interrogated is the right word. They just had some questions. And Allison likes you. She’s a mom so she does the whole..._protective mom thing _.”

That seems to satisfy Harry a tiny bit. He still eyes Jeff warily. 

When Harry speaks next, his tone is free of any lingering petulance, but he does pitch his voice low—like he’s sharing a secret, even though it’s just the two of them in the car. “So none of them know, right?”

Vague as it is, Jeff understands him perfectly. Something in his gut twists, sharp. He shakes his head. “No. Just my parents, still. And I told them not to say anything.”

Harry sighs quietly through his nose and doesn’t speak another word for the rest of the ride. 

Traffic isn’t terrible, so it feels like a blink by the time they’re pulling into Jeff’s parents’ driveway. There are already a couple other cars here; both of his sisters have already arrived, and Jeff knows that his parents’ own vehicles are hidden away in the garage. Everything is immaculate, as per usual: the hedges trimmed perfectly and flowers arranged neatly in the mulch. The grass is that perfect shade of green that can only ever really be achieved by the help of a landscaper. The big, light gray house looks like it could easily be plucked right out of a home and garden magazine. 

Before Jeff can unbuckle his seatbelt, Harry is already out of the car and plastering a pleasant smile on his face. It’s the same one he uses at the grocery store when someone takes the cart he wanted. The very same smile that he gives their neighbor, Ashley, whom he doesn’t like because one time she told their _ other _neighbor, Chrissy, that she doesn’t like the curtains Harry has hung in their living room. 

Jeff grabs the plant from the backseat and tosses the t-shirt over his shoulder before catching up to follow Harry to the front door. Harry raps his knuckles against the glossy black paint, but opens the door right away, not bothering to wait before stepping into the foyer. 

Jeff hears his mother’s voice greeting them from somewhere in the house. After a few seconds, she finally appears, hurrying over to them and pulling Harry into a hug before kissing him on both cheeks. 

“_Hello_, handsome. How are you?” she asks, smiling widely.

“Good. I’m good. How’re you?” 

“Better, now that you two are here,” Shelli says. She rubs Harry’s back for a moment before turning to Jeff and grabbing his cheek between her pointer finger and thumb.

“_Ouch_,” he complains, wincing. “Don’t pinch.”

No matter how old he gets, it seems, hugging his mother will always be one of the most comforting things on Earth. Even when she’s repeatedly kissing his cheek and probably getting lipstick all over him. He can smell the light scent of the perfume she’s worn as long as he can remember. If he lingers for an extra beat, well, that’s okay. 

“Dad and the boys are out back. Jaye and Allison are around here somewhere. And Cam ran to the store to get more chips.”

“Cool. _ Oh_. Actually, we brought this for you.” Jeff hands her the single potted sunflower that he forgot he was holding. 

Shelli pauses, her big smile flickering for just a second as her eyes bounce quickly between the two of them. Jeff shrinks a bit under the scrutiny. He’s not sure exactly what she’s looking for, but he’s grateful when she seemingly shakes herself out of it and accepts her gift. 

“You didn’t have to get me anything,” she says, trying to sound chastising. Jeff can tell she’s pleased, though. 

She brings the plant into the living room and they trail behind her like puppies, watching as she places it on the sill of the bay window, right in the middle. 

“Yeah. Well. Just wanted to do something nice. It was Harry’s idea, actually.” Jeff points his thumb at him. 

Harry’s cheeks pink up a bit as he gets all bashful, his toes pointing even more inwards and his head ducking in a shrug. 

Shelli touches Harry’s upper arm gently and gives him a few pats. “Thank you.”

There are lots of things that are left unsaid, but hang in the air nonetheless. _ Are you okay? How are you feeling? Do you need anything? _

Harry nods. _ Yes, I’m fine. I feel okay. We’re good for now. _

They don’t linger and Jeff is grateful for it. 

In the backyard, Jeff’s three nephews are running around like a blur of just-barely-controlled chaos, giggling and whooping loudly as they chase each other. His father is chatting with Rich—Allison’s husband—while they stand by the grill, both of them with amber bottles of beer in their hands. They wave in acknowledgement but carry on with their conversation. 

Allison and Jaye are sitting at an umbrella-covered table by the pool; likewise, they wave and chorus an exaggerated ‘Heyyyy,’ but stay where they are.

There’s another, even bigger table set up already on the patio, with plates, silverware, and napkins. Sounds of The Eagles’ _ Hotel California _ are floating softly around the backyard from the hidden sound system his dad had installed a few years ago. 

Jeff grabs Harry’s hand and makes a beeline for the bar under the awning. It’s always fully-stocked, so he has no trouble finding what he needs. He pulls a red solo cup off the top of the stack and scoops out some ice from the dispenser. The top of the _ Casamigos _ bottle comes off with a pop before he pours a generous amount into the cup followed by a (roughly) equal amount of orange juice. To finish, he throws in a splash of grenadine and even decorates it with an umbrella straw. Clearly his talents are being wasted in finances.

“Here,” Jeff says, knocking his hip into Harry’s, “Maybe this will get you to relax a little.”

“I’m relaxed.”

Jeff raises his eyebrows. “You look like you have to give a speech or something.”

Harry gives him a pointed glare and tosses back half of his drink in one gulp. He rolls his shoulders like he’s proving a point. “Better?” he asks.

“A little. You better stop looking so stiff, though, or my dad will throw you in the pool.”

Harry scoffs. “He’s half my size. He wouldn’t be able to lift me. Not to mention, he’s what, seventy?” 

“Don’t underestimate him. I made that mistake once and got knocked on my ass.”

“That’s because you’re a wimp.” Harry takes another sip of his drink and looks at Jeff over the rim of his cup. His eyes are bright, the corners of them crinkled slightly with the way he’s smirking. Give him a few more minutes of nursing his cocktail and he’ll hopefully loosen up a bit more. 

However, Jeff doesn’t get the chance to respond before all three of his nephews corner him.

“Come play football with us,” Sidney says.

Riley, standing next to him, grins and shows off his two missing front teeth. “Yeah. Dad and Grandpa are gonna play too.”

“They are, huh?” Jeff looks over and sees Rich now tossing a football between his hands. He elbows Harry lightly. “You gonna play?”

“I’m not very good,” he says, wrinkling his nose. 

Dylan, who likes Harry probably more than he likes Jeff, stares up at him with big, hopeful brown eyes. “That’s okay. You can practice. I’ll help you.” 

Harry crouches down so they’re eye-level, careful to not spill his drink. His face has changed completely now that there are kids around, sunnier and softer. “Really? That’s very nice of you.”

Dylan nods and grabs Harry’s hand. 

Riley and Sidney have been fidgeting patiently, but take off with glee as soon as Jeff says, “Let’s go. I hope you guys are ready to get your butts kicked.”

However, in the end, he winds up eating his words. 

They split into teams: Dylan claims Harry for his own team along with Rich and Riley, while Sidney boasts that they won’t need even amounts of players, and takes Jeff and Irving for his own. However, their overconfidence gets the best of them. Harry’s fast when he wants to be, and him and Rich are great at passing to each other, scoring touchdown after touchdown and barely breaking a sweat. Dylan and Riley are the distractors, running under Jeff’s legs and climbing on his back to try and handicap him. This works embarrassingly well, despite his best efforts to free himself. 

The winning touchdown finds Harry giving Dylan a piggyback ride around the yard for a victory lap.

“Yeah, yeah. Gloat all you want,” Jeff says as they pass.

Harry sticks his tongue out at him. “Don’t be such a sore loser. Right, D?”

“Yeah!” Dylan shouts, pumping one of his little fists in the air. 

The boys get changed into swim trunks to cool off in the pool, whereas Jeff and the rest of the adults get to work on setting up dinner. Everyone grabs trays and bowls of food from the kitchen and brings them outside to put on the table. Rich fires up the grill again to start on some hot dogs and burgers. 

Once everything is done, Allison coaxes the boys out of the water. “Listen, if you don’t eat dinner then you can’t have dessert.”

All three of them go wide-eyed and practically run to the table, not bothering to stop for towels and subsequently getting water everywhere. 

Jeff gets the pleasure of having Riley to his left, while Harry has Sidney to his right. Irving and Shelli take up their spots at their respective heads of the table. Then it’s a cacophony of ‘Can you pass me this?’ and ‘Salt? Has anyone seen the salt…’, silverware clanking, and the boys giggling at each other. Jeff watches as Sidney periodically shovels forkfuls of his grilled veggies onto Harry’s plate when he thinks he’s not looking. He has to cover up a laugh when Harry looks at his growing pile of zucchini in confusion, but doesn’t fill him in. 

Cam traipses in as they’re cleaning up. Jeff grabs his t-shirt from where he left it on the counter, balls it up, and promptly whips it at his head. 

“Don’t leave your shit at my house ever again,” Jeff says, and is immediately reprimanded by Shelli.

“You’re not too old to have your mouth washed out with soap, Jeffrey,” she warns. Cam is behind her and effectively out of her line of sight, so he takes the liberty of flipping Jeff off with a pleased smile.

They move on to dessert not long after. Shelli made a chocolate pudding trifle which Jeff _ cannot _wait to get his hands on, along with the oversized store-bought chocolate chip cookies that Jaye apparently brought. Harry, the weirdo, fills up his plate mostly with chunks of fruit—watermelon, cantaloupe, and a handful of blueberries—before Jeff scoops him out a spoonful of trifle and ignores his protests. 

“You’ve done that since you were little, you know,” Shelli says to Jeff after they sit back down at the table. “You always save the whipped cream for last.” 

Jeff looks down at his plate. She’s right—and he didn’t even realize he was doing it. 

Her comment sets off Jaye, who starts telling stories about when Jeff was a kid. They’re stories that he’d prefer were left in the past, but everyone seems to find them amusing anyway. Like how he exclusively wanted to wear water shoes to school for a whole month. Or when he tried to keep an earthworm as a pet and it was never recovered in his room after Jeff forgot about it. All sorts of wonderful details from his childhood that have Harry grinning from ear-to-ear and elbowing him in the side. 

Allison brings up how similar both Jeff and Riley are—evidently just last week, Riley tried to bring a salamander in the house because ‘he was cold’.

Of the three boys, Riley and Jeff also look the most alike, which is pointed out constantly. 

“You better hope your kids don’t wind up with your huge noggin,” Allison says, tipping her wine glass in Jeff’s direction. “Riley almost killed me.” She shoots Harry a preemptive sympathetic look and adds, “When are you two gonna have a baby anyway? I’m surprised you don’t have six already.”

It’s a harmless comment but it instantly makes Jeff feel like someone just dumped a bucket of ice water over his head. 

When he glances at his mother, she looks stricken, eyes wide. His father looks similarly troubled, his mouth opening and closing like he’s at a loss for words. What could they even say that wouldn’t be totally obvious, if it hasn’t been made so already?

Harry’s head is dropped, staring at his plate and pushing his whipped cream around with a spoon. If he’s anything like Jeff, he’s probably hoping that the ground will open up and swallow them whole. 

Jeff’s throat feels like it’s closed up entirely. He splutters for a moment, his head going back and forth like he’s watching a ping pong match, waiting for anyone else to save him from saying something. 

A tangible wave of relief washes over him when his mom speaks, her voice only wavering slightly. “Oh, leave them alone. It’ll happen when it happens.”  
  
Thankfully Allison seems appeased by that. The conversation shifts to something Jeff doesn’t bother to listen to, still recovering from his blood pressure spiking and forcing himself to calm down. While certainly not ideal, it wouldn’t be the worst thing in the world if the rest of his family found out. But he doesn’t know if he could stomach their pity today. 

Harry’s still very quiet, looking at his half-finished dessert plate like it’s the most interesting thing in the world. Jeff touches his thigh gently under the table, giving him what he hopes is a comforting squeeze. Harry lets out a short sigh and Jeff thinks he’s going to ignore him, but then Harry rests his hand on top of his—palm to knuckles—and taps out a quick little rhythm with his fingers. _ I’m okay_, he says, without speaking a word.

Later, Jeff is in the kitchen finishing up the last of the dishes. His mom hadn’t questioned him when he’d insisted on washing them all by hand when there’s a dishwasher he could easily use. Everyone else, including Harry, has already filed into the living room where the fireplace is in the process of being lit. 

Over the sound of the sink, Jeff can still hear the chatter as his family talks about the boys’ upcoming school projects and Sidney’s music recital. He focuses on a particularly stubborn piece of hamburger stuck to the plate he’s holding, scrubbing with the rough side of the sponge. 

It startles him when he hears someone speak right behind him. He nearly gets suds and water everywhere with the force of his jump.

“Hey,” Allison says. 

“_Jesus Christ_,” he lets out in a breath and laughs. “Scared me.”

She just smirks at him: sibling code of conduct. It fades, though, when she takes a seat at the island and uses her Carefully Neutral Mom Voice to ask, “Are you all right?”

Jeff turns back to the sink and addresses the windowsill. “Yeah. ‘M fine. Why?”

“I dunno. You just don’t seem like yourself. And Harry’s being weird.”

“He’s always weird.”

“You know what I mean. The two of you keep looking at each other like you lost your puppy or something.”

Jeff can’t help it, the way he feels the need to counter everything she says. His shoulders are creeping up defensively towards his ears. “We don’t have a puppy.”

Allison sighs, frustrated. “Can you knock it off? I’m trying to be serious with you.”

“And I’m being serious. We’re fine. Everything is fine.” The plate Jeff is working on is sparkling clean, but he continues to scrub it harder than necessary anyway.

“You’re not, though. You forget that I know you. We lived under the same roof for quite some time, if you remember. So why are you being so cagey? Rich even asked me—”

Jeff drops the plate in the sink; it doesn’t break but it does make a loud clatter. He braces his arms on the countertop and lets his head drop. 

“Harry and I have been trying to get pregnant but...all of the tests have been negative. And then he—he miscarried. We didn’t even know it happened until we went for a scan. There weren’t any symptoms, we just—neither of us knew.”

Perhaps it should be a relief to tell his sister, but all he feels is this hollowness in his chest, the words brittle and splintery as they leave his mouth.

“Jeff...I’m sorry. That’s—I can’t even imagine.”

His mother and father said something similar. Anne, too. And of course, the doctor who had relayed the news when they found out. Everyone apologizes, even though it’s no one’s fault. 

An 'I’m fine' is on the tip of his tongue, but he fights the urge to say it. He simply nods and accepts his sister’s words for what they are. 

“That’s why dinner got awkward,” he explains. “We’re still, like. Figuring shit out.”

“If I had known, I wouldn’t have—”

“I know.” He takes a deep breath and turns so he’s facing her again. Looking at her face for more than a few seconds at a time is nearly impossible; her eyes are full of sadness and sympathy. Jeff doesn’t want to cry right now so he looks around the room instead, at his parents’ massive kitchen, the art his mom has hung up on the walls. 

On top of the small table where they keep their mail, Jeff focuses on a picture of the whole family together, all of the siblings and the grandkids. They took it a couple years ago for his dad’s birthday party. The boys were significantly smaller, and if Jeff remembers correctly, Dylan was still speaking almost exclusively in gibberish. 

The frame it’s in is silver with a simple flourished engraving in the corner that says 'Family'. Jeff thinks of a similar frame that he bought about a year ago, when it seemed like Harry and himself having a baby together was a guarantee, with no room for error. He was out shopping and elated at the prospect of their future and bought it on a whim from a keepsake store. Similarly, it’s silver and mostly plain, with no ornate touches. Just a simple frame that has a blank section to write a name, date, and a weight. 

It never made it out of the box. Jeff never gave it to Harry like he intended. Instead, it got stuffed into the back of their bedroom closet where hopefully Harry won’t find it. Tonight was proof enough that Harry doesn’t need any more reminders of what they’re being denied. 

Allison approaches like Jeff is an animal she’s afraid of spooking. He stiffens up momentarily as her arms wrap around him, but he relaxes quickly and lets himself be comforted. 

“If you need anything, let me know. Either of you,” she says softly.

Jeff’s throat has gone suddenly tight. He nods and hugs her back, hoping that says enough.

*

Harry is already under the covers and has rolled onto his belly by the time Jeff makes his way to bed that evening. 

Gingerly, he peels his half of the covers down and climbs in, trying his best not to wake him. 

He gets comfortable, adjusting his pillow so it’s just right and finding a cool spot for his feet under the sheets. In his mind, the conversation he had with Allison keeps playing on loop, making his gut clench uncomfortably. It’s not that he regrets telling her, but it’s like speaking aloud the things that have been plaguing him has only brought them closer to the surface, when he’s done his best to beat them down as much as possible.

Next to him, Harry’s breathing is shallow and even. Jeff tries to focus on that in hopes that maybe it will lull him into sleep. Except Harry isn’t asleep after all. Jeff listens as the sheets rustle behind him while Harry flops onto his back and sighs. 

Jeff peeks over his own shoulder at him. Even in the darkness, he can still make out Harry’s troubled expression: the deep furrow of his brows, the pull of his bottom lip as he takes it between his own teeth. 

“You’re awake?” Jeff asks in a whisper. 

“Yeah,” Harry whispers back, reaching over to gently touch Jeff’s waist over the covers. 

“I was thinking…” Harry continues and trails off. 

“Oh no.” Jeff’s tone is teasing, but Harry doesn’t laugh.

“I was thinking about something earlier. And I don’t want you to be mad at me.”

Jeff traces the edge of his pillowcase with one of his thumbs. “Okay,” he says, hesitant. 

Harry swallows. “I want to try IVF.”

Of all the potential things that Harry could have said, Jeff wasn’t expecting that one. He hates walking into things blind; at work, he always has a clear plan when he makes proposals and arranges new deals. He never does anything without having his bases covered.  
  
He wants to know how long Harry has been considering this. What research he’s done. How much he’s attached himself to the idea of it. 

“Isn’t that expensive?” Jeff asks, and immediately wishes he hadn’t.

Harry pulls his hand back like he’s been burned. “That’s not—That’s all you have to say? _ Really _?”

Jeff flicks on his bedside lamp and sits up against the headboard. If they’re going to have this conversation now, they’re not gonna talk to the dark air of their bedroom. 

“I didn’t say no, did I?” he says.

Harry’s glare is icy. The muscles on either side of his jaw clench. “You might as well have.”

“That’s not fair. You know it isn’t.” 

“You’re being a dick.”

“_I’m _ being a dick? Harry, it’s almost midnight, we were going to sleep, and then you throw _ this _at me, totally out of the blue.”

“It’s not _ out of the blue_. You were at dinner earlier, weren’t you?” 

“I talked to Allison. She said she was sorry. She didn’t mean anything by it.”

Harry folds his arms across his chest. He has that mulish look on his face. The one that means he won’t back down easily.

Jeff continues. “I told her what happened.”

Harry’s eyes dart away from him. He holds himself tighter. “Okay.”

“Is it?”

“It doesn’t matter. She’d have found out eventually,” Harry says quickly.

“What?”

“Well, it’s gonna be harder and harder to keep under wraps when we’re fifty and still don’t have any kids.” 

Jeff shakes his head. “Harry…”

“What? Am I saying anything untrue?”

Jeff hesitates. He’s thought of alternative options, himself. Ones that Harry probably won’t like. But Jeff is a realist, and sometimes you can’t do things exactly the way you want. “There are lots of kids that are waiting to be adopted. Lots of babies. And there’s always surrogacy—”

“I _ know_,” Harry insists. “I know that. And forgive me for being horribly selfish and _ difficult_, but I’d rather not do that if we don’t have to.”

_ We might have to, is the thing_, Jeff thinks. Because realism and pessimism seem to go hand-in-hand these days. He doesn’t want to have to be the one to tell Harry that the odds appear to be stacked against them. Harry suggesting IVF is an admission of exactly that, though, in a way. 

Jeff threads his fingers together and rests them over his ribs, closing his eyes. His knowledge of IVF is incredibly limited. He’s not sure what it entails: the procedures, and everything they could be potentially subjecting themselves to. It’s like he’s on a boat staring out at the vast emptiness of the horizon, unsure what waits ahead. It’s scary as fuck. 

He keeps his voice as level as possible when he asks, “What would we have to do?”

Nothing about Harry’s tone suggests that he thinks he’s won. He’s carefully neutral as well. “It would be fertility treatments, for me, mostly. Then they take some eggs, fertilize them, and see what happens. If they develop or not. And that like, happens in a lab. If they grow, then they get put back in me. If _ that _goes well, then you end up pregnant.”

He’s done his homework, just as Jeff suspected (and maybe feared, too). Harry’s not one to go into things without a plan either. 

Jeff can’t help but count all the _ if’s_. He can’t avoid seeing that the potential doesn’t come with a guarantee. He weighs Harry’s words carefully. 

“Is this something we have to decide on right now?”

Harry shifts and sighs. “No.”

Jeff rolls onto his side and tries to touch Harry’s arm but he moves away from him. 

“Don’t be like that,” Jeff says, quiet and stung.

Harry simply looks at him for a moment, his eyes flicking back and forth. Jeff watches as something inside of him unfurls, like a bow being pulled loose. He places his hand over Jeff’s. 

“Will you think about it? Please?” There’s a small thread of desperation in his tone that Jeff can’t ignore. 

He nods. “I’ll think about it.” 

“I have some, uhm. Papers and stuff. That I printed. If you wanna look any of it over…”

“Tomorrow. Just tell me what to read and I’ll do it.”

Harry cuddles up to him then, wrapping an arm around his waist and nestling his calf in between both of Jeff’s. His feet are freezing, just like always. The rest of him is warm, though, and paired with Jeff’s tiredness, the blanketing heat of him is enough for his eyelids to start drooping. 

“Thank you,” Harry says, whispering again now that the storm is mostly over. 

Jeff would feel strange saying ‘you’re welcome’ when he hasn’t actually done anything yet, so he presses a kiss to the top of Harry’s head instead. 

“Let’s go to sleep. We can talk about it tomorrow.”

“Okay,” Harry agrees. He pauses for a moment and then adds, “I love you.” He says it firmly, like he’s driving a stake into the ground. 

Jeff doesn’t miss a beat. “I love you, too. Always.”

***

597 Kingfisher Lane - Fullerton - June 2, 2018

For a house with a new baby, Mitch and Sarah’s place is incredibly quiet. 

Jeff doesn’t know what he was expecting; it’s not like he hasn’t been around newborns before. It makes sense, really, with how quiet and serene both Mitch and Sarah are. It seems only fitting that their one-month-old would be much the same. 

They’re all sitting in the screened porch area that’s attached to the back of the house. It’s mostly sunny today, with only a few clouds in the sky. Jeff has to squint a bit against the brightness. He looks down at the tiny baby in his arms to check that his eyes are adequately shielded. 

Felix Reed Rowland—whose name makes him sound like a little rockstar—is awake and alert, placidly staring up at Jeff with the inscrutable expression of someone who’s very new but already seems wise beyond their years. He’s barely made a peep since him and Harry arrived, except for soft burbles and coos.

Harry is glued to Jeff’s side, leaning into his space to get a better view of Felix. He won’t ask, but he’s desperate to hold him, too. But that’s the thing—even when Sarah offered, he declined. _ Oh, no_, he’d said. _ I haven’t washed my hands yet_. 

Mitch is sitting across from them with a guitar in his lap, plucking at strings and strumming out little licks from songs that Jeff has never heard before. If he had to guess, he’d say that they’re probably songs Mitch has written himself. Sarah is perched on the opposite end of the couch he’s sitting on, nursing a mug of hot tea despite the warm weather. 

Felix seems to enjoy the music his father is playing, wiggling impatiently whenever Mitch stops or pauses. Then again, it’s difficult to discern if his face is scrunching up from displeasure or because he’s pooping. 

It turns out to be the latter, they discover not long after. Mitch carefully puts his guitar in its stand and scurries away with Felix tucked up over his shoulder. 

“Sorry we’re not very exciting today. He kept us up all last night. Always fussy about bedtime,” Sarah says. Now that Jeff is looking for it, he can hear how her voice is laced with tiredness and can see the light purple stains under her eyes.

“Really?” Harry asks. He puts his arm more securely around Jeff’s waist. “He’s being so good now, though. Very quiet.”

Sarah snorts. “Yeah, because he’s being held. Put him down and see what happens. He’ll start squawking loud enough that the people down the street can hear him.”

When Mitch returns with a newly-diapered Felix, he asks in his low, rich voice, “Do you want one of us to take him, or do you want him back?”

Jeff shrugs gamely. “I’ll take him again.” It’s more for Harry’s benefit than his own, which seems to be a recurring theme in his life these days. 

As expected, Harry watches the baby like infants are going out of fashion, and once again, Felix is resting contentedly into the crook of Jeff’s arm. Harry has his attention now, though. He stares up at Harry as he makes faces that are full of superlatives: wide eyes and raised brows, big toothy smiles, exaggerated frowns. Felix’s lips and eyebrows keep twitching like he wants to imitate him. This seems to spur Harry on even more. 

“Don’t listen to your mom, Felix. You’re the coolest baby ever,” Harry says, punctuated with a soft boop of Felix’s nose. 

It makes him sneeze not two seconds after, and they all laugh. Felix looks affronted but settles quickly, only squirming a bit. Jeff readjusts him so that he’s lying down on the table of his thighs, paying special attention to make sure his head and neck are supported the entire time. 

Harry’s hands keep hovering, his long fingers shaking. Jeff can feel the hesitation rolling off him in waves, so he picks Felix up and puts him in Harry’s arms before he can protest. 

And Harry does try to protest, his mouth opening as his brows furrow at Jeff’s quick mutiny. But something inside of him must shift enough to make his words die on his tongue. He’s a little stiff at first, but he arranges his limbs so he’s holding Felix the same way Jeff was. He looks scared shitless; Jeff can hear how shallow his breathing has gone. But he also looks happy. Like he was put on this Earth to hold babies. 

Then it’s Jeff’s turn to have something click, like sliding the correct house key in on the first try.

He’s never doubted his desire to have children with Harry. That’s never been the issue. It’s everything else that’s gotten in the way: months and months of having the well of their hope and excitement bled dry, doctors seemingly not having answers for them, and then the miscarriage that knocked them off their feet. 

Who knows if IVF will even work. Maybe it will only run them further into the ground, mentally and physically. But it’s worth a shot. 

Harry relaxes incrementally, his shoulders dropping from their spot up by his ears, his spine slowly molding into a less rigid position. 

His eyes stay wide and attentive, though. He fixes the sleeve of Felix’s t-shirt that’s folded up a bit with careful ministrations, being as gentle as possible, like he’ll break if he moves too fast. Jeff would tell him that newborns are far sturdier than they look, but he doesn’t want to break the spell. 

But, like most things that involve children, nothing ever goes smoothly. 

One minute Felix is fine, his eyelids having just started to droop as Harry rambles to him in his deep, rumbly voice, and then all of a sudden there’s puke everywhere. 

Harry gasps as his shirt is covered in milky white. Jeff starts laughing before he can stop himself. 

“Oh, fuck,” Sarah says, standing up and looking around the room, clearly tying to keep her own laughter at bay. 

Mitch procures a cloth evidently from thin air and tosses it at Harry. It lands on his face.

Jeff plucks it off of him and reveals Harry’s displeased expression. He starts to dab up as much liquid as he can, but it’s clear that Harry’s shirt is going to need a thorough wash when they get home. 

“Sorry about that. Probably should’ve warned you. He’s a projectile vomiter,” Mitch says mildly. 

Felix hiccups and Harry immediately turns his attention back to his face, smiling like a flower opening to the sun. 

“It’s okay,” he says. “I can have that effect on people sometimes.” 

Jeff snorts and nods enthusiastically. 

Mitch looks pensive for a moment and then his face melts into a cool smirk. “Hey, remember that time you puked into one of my mom’s vases?”

Harry’s eyes grow comically wide, his cheeks pinking up quickly. “I _ didn’t_.”

“I watched you do it, man.” Mitch shakes his head, still smiling. 

“Well, I didn’t _ mean to_.”

Jeff pats Harry’s thigh consolingly. “It’s okay, babe._ I _ still think you’re cute.”

With the cloth now over his shoulder, Harry puts Felix over it and starts patting him gently on the back. 

“I don’t like any of you. Just the baby,” Harry says. 

It’s a joke, with no real heat behind it, but Jeff knows that above all else, Harry loves Felix. Loves all children and babies, probably more than he loves anyone. That if they have a kid together—or, _ God_, more than one (he needs to not get ahead of himself, though)—Harry would put them first no matter what. They’d be his whole world. 

With a subtle nod to himself, Jeff’s decision has already been made.

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - June 4, 2018

The tiles of the kitchen floor are cold under Jeff’s bare feet. He hisses through his teeth as he hops and skips over to the cabinet housing the cups. 

From the windowsill, he grabs the bottle of ibuprofen and shakes out a couple into his palm before tossing them into his mouth and washing them down with water from the tap. He’s had a dull headache all day that he’s desperately tried to ignore, but he’s finally had enough.

The front door opens and closes, squeaky hinges letting him know that Harry’s finally home from work. He glances at the analog clock hanging on the opposite wall. 7:56PM. Not bad, considering that most of Harry’s eleven-to-seven shifts have seen him home around 8:30PM for the past month or so.

“Hiii,” Harry calls from down the hall. Jeff can hear him kicking his sneakers off, listening to them hit the footboard in their non-existent foyer. 

“Hi. In here.”

Harry comes bustling into the room in a flurry of air that smells faintly of antibacterial hand soap and latex gloves. 

“Hi,” Harry repeats. “Sorry I’m late.”

“No worries,” Jeff says, even though they didn’t have any special plans. Harry always apologizes, though. So Jeff always lets him know that it’s okay. 

Harry drops his tote bag on the table with a thud and sighs. “We had a bunch of new intakes today and for _ whatever _reason, none of the aids did the paperwork correctly, so I had to fix a bunch of it. Mm.” He pauses to peck Jeff quickly on the mouth, cupping a hand on his jaw. But before he can twirl away to clear out his lunch bag, his eyebrows knit together. He brings both hands up to Jeff’s face, feeling around, using the back of one to press against his forehead. “You feel warm. Are you getting sick?”

Jeff shrugs. “I dunno. Don’t really feel sick. Just have a headache.”

“Did you take—”

“Yeah, I just took a couple.” 

Harry thumbs over his cheek, his face still very serious, brows heavy. “Okay,” he says.

Jeff smiles. Harry looks very cute right now in his lavender scrubs and polka dot socks. His hair is a mess, showing obvious evidence that he’s been running his fingers through it, the length on top sticking up in odd directions. Even the bruised-looking bags under his eyes don’t detract from anything. And here he is, tired after a long day at the hospital where he takes care of people for a living, taking care of Jeff without a moment’s hesitation. 

They might not have a whole lot of money in their savings accounts, or in their checkings either, but Jeff is instantly floored by how ready he is to follow Harry into battle. He thinks about seeing Harry with Felix the other day, how natural they looked, how they seemed to fit. He wants to see Harry with _ their _ baby. 

Before he can think of a better segue, Jeff blurts, “Let’s do it.”

Harry’s serious expression turns very confused. His head tilts to the side. “What?”

“The IVF thing. Let’s do it.” 

The small smile that was beginning to take shape on Harry’s face falls completely flat in an instant. He takes a step backwards and his hand slides away from Jeff’s cheek. 

“Don’t joke, Jeff. It’s not—”

Jeff shakes his head. “I’m not joking. I wouldn’t joke about something like that. Gimme some credit.”

Harry swallows. He’s staring at Jeff like he’s trying to look into his very soul. He must find something that satisfies him because the faint etching of a dimple appears next to his mouth as the corners tug upwards. 

“Yeah?” he asks, softly.

Jeff nods. “Yeah. I think we should give it a shot.”

Harry launches himself at him, forcing Jeff to stumble back a few steps while arranging his arms in a way to try and hold Harry up. Long legs wind themselves around his waist as fingers dig into his back. Jeff can feel Harry’s eyelashes fluttering against the skin of his neck.

He can’t fault Harry for his initial hesitance to believe him or his surprised joy now that Jeff is on board. They may have managed to be frank about their fears and desires during that initial discussion in the dark of their bedroom, but opening yourself up in midday sunlight is a different beast entirely. After their initial discussion, Jeff dragged his feet and avoided reading the information Harry forwarded to him. To his credit, Harry never asked him if he read it or not. In fact, they haven’t really spoken about it again until now. 

The websites made it sound so easy, but then the testimonials from actual patients made it seem like a shot in the dark. He read countless stories of people going through cycle after cycle and racking up thousands of dollars of debt, only to be left with several miscarriages under their belt and no baby. 

The process can be long and arduous, and painful for the carrying partner. It’s risky and invasive and the more Jeff thought about it, the more it seemed like something they should avoid for the sake of their relationship and individual mental health. 

His sudden change of heart is slamming against his ribs, begging to be let out. 

He wants to cast some type of spell that will protect them from all the bad things that can happen. As unrealistic as it may be, he can only cross his fingers and hope. But he wants this. He wants it for Harry. He wants it for himself. And he wants it for them. 

For all of the negative pregnancy tests of theirs, likely sitting in a garbage dump somewhere, they owe it to themselves to try this. Going in blind is always scary, but there’s no one else Jeff would rather be with, through the good and the bad. They might not be official on paper, but the bond they share is strong, practically buzzing through Jeff’s veins, making him feel like he could float to the ceiling. 

Harry tilts his head back so he can look at Jeff. His face is in danger of splitting in two with how big he’s smiling. It’s infectious; Jeff starts smiling, too.

“We’re gonna do it? Like, really do it?”

“Yeah.” Jeff kisses him. He tastes minty from all the gum he likes to chew and his lips leave a bit of waxiness behind from his berry lip balm. “Really really.”

Harry starts to laugh: the deep, happy kind that bubbles up out of him like lava. Jeff hugs him tighter and spins them around the kitchen.

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - September 13, 2018 

Harry barely reacts anymore when Jeff gives him the injections, his face carefully neutral, eyes to the ceiling. 

With the skin of Harry’s lower belly pinched between two fingers, Jeff carefully inserts the thin hypodermic needle and pushes down on the plunger, delivering the dosage of hormones that are helping to stimulate Harry’s egg production. 

“All done.” Jeff wipes away the tiny dot of blood from Harry’s skin with a piece of sterile gauze. 

With a soft sigh, Harry sits up and pulls his t-shirt back down. 

“You okay?” Jeff asks. It’s a silly question; Harry’s been uncomfortable since his very first injection, being pumped full of hormones and all sorts of other things in an effort to crank up his fertility. Jeff listened when the specialist explained everything to them. He did. But he also got stuck on the fact that Harry would need _ injections_. Not ones that you go to the doctor’s office to get, but ones that are administered at home. 

Harry tried to do them himself at first, but he kept experiencing the same mental block, unable to get past the fact that he was sticking himself in the stomach with something sharp. So Jeff—despite having no medical knowledge or practice—has been tasked with it. He feels bad every time they have to do it, even though it’s become a routine now: twice a day for an entire month. 

So far they’re three weeks down with only one week to go. 

“Yeah, m’fine,” Harry mumbles, scratching his own hip. 

According to their doctor, all of his symptoms have been normal, including the extreme emotional outbursts that can be triggered by literally anything, as well as the soreness around the injection sites (there’s not much unmarked skin left in that area anymore), and the bloating that makes him perpetually look like he’s just eaten a big lunch. Harry says it feels a lot like the first couple of days before a heat starts, but they’ve been advised against any sort of sexual activity. 

Jeff feels a bit helpless. Like his hands are tied and he’s been directed to just sit and watch as things happen that _ kinda sorta _ involve him. Because realistically, his whole end of the process has been minimal, and it’s odd, feeling so detached from something that he should theoretically have a more active role in.

However, despite all this, there isn’t really anything he can do, aside from being as supportive as possible and listening to instructions. 

Their very first appointment with their fertility specialist, Dr. Avery, was focused on the two of them and their medical histories. But from then on, most of the testing and poking and prodding has been directed at Harry, who’s taking all of it like a trooper. 

Aside from having to jerk off in a weird room by himself while Harry was just down the hall in the waiting room filling out paperwork, all of Jeff’s duties have been very painless and mild. Handing over a container of his own semen for a preliminary inspection by the doctor wasn’t one of his finest moments. But he isn’t the one who’s had enough blood drawn to fill up an entirely new human and then some.

Medically speaking, he and Harry should be able to conceive without any trouble. An ultrasound Harry underwent eight months ago revealed exactly nothing; everything is in top working order. 

Harry had warily asked about his former use of suppressants; until that moment, Jeff had been unaware that Harry had ever taken them. Dr. Avery had asked when he was initially prescribed them, and Harry looked like he wanted to bolt out of his seat and run away. Quietly, though, he’d mumbled, “Thirteen.”

It had made Jeff wince. He’d immediately wished he hadn’t, as he watched Harry fold in on himself. Dr. Avery had been more inscrutable. Jeff is still thankful for that. 

Without a hitch, she’d fired off her next question. “And when did you stop taking them?”

“Two-thousand and twelve, when I turned eighteen.”

“Because you wanted to or because there were negative side-effects?”

“Just because,” Harry said quietly. 

Jeff had grabbed his hand and squeezed. After that point, the discussion had thankfully changed gears and moved into the more neutral (but no less embarrassing) territory of what their sex schedule looked like. 

If Jeff's being honest with himself, he'd filed the whole awkward appointment away in his head as just one more fruitless step in their struggle to conceive. He's trying his best not to have that same mindset about the injections now. They don’t have the luxury of letting embarrassment get in the way of their daily lives. This is their new reality. So Jeff deposits the used needle and syringe into the special waste container they were given and doesn’t dwell. 

Then they both get on with their days. Harry is off to the gym, even though he’s been lethargic lately. Jeff is planning on getting some work done; there’s contract stuff that he hates and has been avoiding, but he’s put it off long enough. He’s planning on keeping sweatpants on all day, thankful for the opportunity to work at home for once. 

It’s likely that Harry is going to spend most of his time out and about. He’s been doing it a lot. Jeff suspects he’s doing it intentionally to distract himself, whether it be from his discomfort or his incessant desire to be as careful as possible at all times, dangerously afraid of upsetting this process in any way. 

Briefly, in the middle of the hallway that leads to their bedroom, with Harry decked out in his workout clothes and Jeff in pajamas, they meet for a kiss. 

“Do you wanna do steak for dinner still? Or should I grab something on my way home later?” Harry asks.

“You’re gonna be out that long?”

Harry glances at the wall next to them. “Yeah. You know. I have things to do.”

“Things,” Jeff says dryly. 

“Yeah. Gym and errands. And then I might stop by Mitch’s house for a bit. Why?”

Jeff touches Harry’s waist. “I just thought—you’re hardly home lately. Don’t you wanna take a nap or something?” He tries to soften it with a laugh.

Harry kisses him again, longer this time. “I won’t be home too late. Promise. Marinade is in the fridge still.”

Jeff stands there long after Harry is gone, feeling the ghost of his mouth on his, wondering what he’s gotten himself into. 

***

Los Angeles IVF Clinic - September 21, 2018

Every few seconds, the man across the room turns a page in the magazine he’s been leafing through. It’s one of those awful tabloid ones that’s just filled with paparazzi pictures and ads. Jeff is using it as an arbitrary measure of time, since he’s sick of incessantly checking his watch. 

He hasn’t bothered with any of the magazines that the waiting room provides. He’d fooled around with his phone for a few minutes and scrolled through Instagram and Facebook, but it was barely enough to distract him. 

When they’d first arrived earlier—a half hour before their actual appointment time because Harry was anxious about being on time, and then even more anxious about being too early—Jeff was ushered back to do a repeat performance of their last visit. 

So, again, he was given a plastic cup and a lid and told to _ do what he has to do, no pressure, don’t worry about how long he takes_. 

It wasn’t the same nurse from before that took his sample this time, and he can’t tell if he was more embarrassed or relieved about that. 

Either way, he’s currently counting the linoleum tiles in the waiting room while Harry has his procedure done. 

Jeff wasn’t allowed back with him, even though Harry looked ready to evaporate when the nurse came to collect him and get him ready. 

Harry had been trying to downplay his nervousness when Jeff returned to him post-cup rendezvous. But Jeff could tell that he was scared. He looked like he was walking to the guillotine as he stepped past the threshold and began his journey to one of the private rooms, glancing back at Jeff a few times and nearly breaking his heart. 

It’s probably for the best that Jeff isn’t allowed in the room with him. He loves Harry, but he’s read up on the procedure and looked at plenty of diagrams. He’s not exactly dying to get a glimpse of it in real life, especially not when it’s someone he cares about as much as he does Harry. Everyone seems to think that ignorance is bliss, and right now he’d have to agree. 

Still, he can’t help but think (_a lot _) about what’s happening to Harry—what he might be feeling. 

The two of them, starting this process together, are just a small speck in the grand scheme of things. The guy across the room: is he waiting for his partner, too? Out in the world, there are people dying, being born, having their lives saved. So many things that are removed from his individual experience. His anxiety over this fifteen-minute procedure that isn’t even happening to him seems infinitesimal. 

He takes a quick bathroom break, purposefully washing his hands with cold water in an effort to shock himself into...something. He’s not sure what, really. But he does splash some on his face, too, for good measure. It doesn’t really do much except make him regret not bringing a sweatshirt in with him, even though Harry warned him to. They keep the office cold for some reason, and the AC is certainly doing its job today. 

Only a couple minutes after he returns to his seat, the nurse they’ve dealt with a few times already, Rebecca, informs him that Harry is going to be waking up soon. He follows her past all the exam rooms and into a hall that’s been uncharted so far; in the second room on the right, Harry is waiting for him. 

He’s still asleep as far as Jeff can tell, with a pulse oximeter attached to one of his fingers. His socked left foot is sticking out from underneath the blanket draped over his lap. The first thing Jeff does is get him situated, tugging the blanket down and making sure he’s tucked in properly. 

The slight movement wakes him. He inhales sharply followed by some groggy snuffles, clumsily rubbing at his eyes. 

Jeff plops down onto the cushioned chair next to the hospital bed. “Hey, kid. How are you feeling?”

Harry groans as he slowly sits up. 

Rebecca reappears in the doorway, this time with a manila folder in her hand. 

“Hi, there. Welcome back,” she says cheerily to Harry. 

Harry tries his best to smile, but it comes out more lopsided than he probably intended. “Hi,” he says, voice scratchy. 

“So I’ve just spoken with Dr. Avery and everything went well. The injections have been doing exactly what they’re supposed to, so we’re gonna go ahead and use the sample Mr. Azoff produced to try and get things cooking!”

Jeff blushes fiercely. Out of the corner of his eye, he can see Harry smirk, albeit weakly. 

Harry gives Rebecca a thumbs up. She starts thumbing through the paperwork in the folder. 

“Okay,” she says. “It looks like twelve eggs were retrieved. I’m sure this has already been told to you, but I’ll give you a refresher. In the lab, they’ll separate all of the eggs and individually inject concentrations of sperm into each one. In about twenty-four hours we’ll know how fertilization is going. So you should get a call within the next couple of days with an update. Okay?”

Jeff and Harry both nod, wide-eyed like children on their first day of school. 

“Mr. Styles, I’m sure you’re very thirsty and hungry after fasting for a bit, so make sure that when you leave, you eat and drink plenty. Anything you want—no restrictions. Is there anything I can get you right now to make you more comfortable while you wait?”

“No thank you,” Harry says, looking ready to nod off at any moment. 

Rebecca turns her attention to Jeff when Harry’s eyes droop closed. She pitches her voice quieter. “He’s probably gonna be a bit sleepy today while the anesthesia wears off. Don’t worry if he gets a bit nauseous, too. Super normal. Same goes for any cramping or bloating.”

Jeff swallows. “Is he in any pain right now? Or will he be later?”

“It’s different for everyone. He might be a bit sore but it shouldn’t last. If it’s not better by tomorrow, one of you can give the office a call and we’ll go from there.”

“Okay. Thank you very much.”

With the room to themselves, Jeff watches Harry doze lightly for a bit. Harry’s such a lightweight with anything—alcohol, weed, even Tylenol will make him sleep sometimes—that Jeff isn’t surprised he’s reacting like this to the anesthesia. 

After speaking briefly with Dr. Avery, who recites almost the exact same spiel as Rebecca, they’re given the go ahead to check out and leave. 

Getting Harry dressed is a bit of a challenge. Even on a good day he’s all limbs and no coordination, but this is something else.

“Arms up, Harry, c’mon.”

Harry sighs. It clearly takes great effort to lift his arms above his head so Jeff can put his t-shirt on for him, briskly guiding the neck hole over his head. It makes a mess of his hair in the process, most of the bits he usually pushes back coming forward to rest on his forehead, frizzy and wild. 

“Thanks,” Harry says, indignantly trying sort it into some semblance of order. 

“Can you stand?”

“Think so.”

He wobbles for a second on his feet, but Jeff gets him upright and helps him step into his briefs and sweatpants, his arms braced on Jeff’s shoulders for balance. 

Jeff has him sit on the edge of the bed while he squats down so he can grab each of Harry’s ankles and slip off the hospital-issued grippy socks, cute as they may be. While Jeff is down there, Harry wiggles his eyebrows at him suggestively.

“I like where this is going,” Harry says. His voice is still rough and gravelly like it always is after he’s just woken up. 

“Did they slip you some pain pills or something? You’re acting kinda loopy.”

Harry scoffs. “How dare you. I act like this _ all _ the time.”

“Very true. Now help me put your shoes on. Other foot. No, your _ other _other foot.”

Harry falls asleep again nearly as soon as he sits down in the car for the ride home. He keeps one hand wrapped around Jeff’s over the center console, while the other stays firmly put, cupping his own belly. Jeff aches at the sight of it; he tries to keep his eyes on the road in front of him. 

The clinic isn’t very far from their house by California standards, so he takes the scenic route to give Harry extra time to rest. Jeff is less familiar with this area, even though they’ve lived here for a bit now. If they were further south and closer to where he grew up, he could probably navigate the roads blindfolded. Certain pockets of California look very similar, especially the areas by the beaches. It always manages to trick him a bit while he drives, feeling like he’s being guided by a familiarity that isn’t necessarily real.

He ends up on a street that runs parallel to the shore, so he keeps glancing out his window to watch the surf, marveling at the tiny dots of people on the sand and in the water. Despite the windows being closed, Jeff can still conjure the sound of waves crashing and ocean wind blowing past his ears. 

Briefly, he considers parking to stop and watch, maybe just for a few minutes. But he’s never been to a beach and not put his feet in the water. Harry’s still sound asleep in the passenger seat, so maybe another time. 

He’s managed to add an extra hour to their journey. The waste of gas is worth it, though, for the way he feels significantly more relaxed by the time he pulls into their driveway. They’re doing this whole big thing, seemingly jumping through hoops to have a baby when other people don’t have to try half as hard or need medical help so early on. It feels a tad unfair, but mostly it’s just scary, and more than a little surreal. Who knows—right this very second, the little tiny pieces of his and Harry’s DNA could be coming together back at the lab. He can barely wrap his head around it. 

As Jeff puts the car in park and takes the key out of the ignition, Harry finally stirs, blinking his eyes open. “Home?” he mumbles.

“Yeah. We’re home.”

“_God_, I feel like I could sleep for a week.” Harry shifts and stretches, unbuckling himself with a click. 

“You’re allowed. I’ll even fluff your pillows for you at regular intervals. But first, why don’t you try to eat?”

“Will you make me something?” Harry asks sheepishly. “I just don’t feel like cooking.”

“Whatever you want. I’m not sure what we have in the house, but I can go out and grab something for you, too.”

“There’s chicken soup in the cabinet. And we have bread. I know you make some mean toast with butter.”

“Yes, your majesty. I’ll make you soup and toast,” Jeff says, laughing. 

***

Anaheim - September 25, 2018

_ Twelve _ grams of sugar per serving? Jeff puts the box of Fruit Loops back on the shelf. He pushes the cart further down the aisle in search of something a bit more healthy. As of late and part of the unspoken We’re Trying For a Baby agreement, both Harry and Jeff have been trying to make better choices, all around. 

Jeff pauses for a moment in the cereal aisle. Harry should be around here somewhere; he wandered off in search of a special spice he needs for a recipe but hasn’t come back yet. 

In the meantime, Jeff continues to browse and grabs a few of those little instant oatmeal cups that Harry likes (apples and cinnamon) and throws them into the cart. He likes to take a methodical approach to shopping; he starts at the front of the store and works his way through each aisle to try and avoid needing to run around. Harry, no matter how many times Jeff has tried to convert him, still prefers to dart around like a weirdo without any sense of strategy, hence his absence. 

Jeff re-checks the list he typed out on his phone earlier. Canned corn. That’s what they need. 

After rounding the corner to the next aisle, Jeff spots a familiar lanky frame. “Fancy seeing you here,” he says.

Harry rolls his eyes but fails to suppress a grin. 

“Did you like the gluten-free pasta we tried a few weeks ago, or no?”

Jeff hesitates. “It wasn’t...terrible.”

Harry tosses two boxes of regular, delightfully full of gluten fusilli into their cart. They make their way through the rest of the store together. Harry grabs stuff that Jeff wants to protest about but he bites his tongue, and in turn Jeff sneaks stuff in when Harry has his back turned. Even though he’s nowhere near as disciplined as he used to be, Harry still doesn’t like a lot of junk food in the house. But Jeff loves snacks. So he’s gonna buy some snacks. 

They’ve reached the dairy section where Harry is debating whether they should buy whole or two-percent lactose-free milk when his phone rings in his pocket. Jeff can’t help himself; he’s hungry so he opens a bag of Goldfish and stuffs a handful into his mouth as Harry swipes to answer the call, pressing his phone between shoulder and ear.

“Hello?” he says into the speaker, using one hand to open the glass refrigerator door and put the two-percent milk back. 

There’s a long stretch of silence as Harry’s eyes bounce around, not seeming to focus on anything in particular, paying attention to whatever is being said to him on the other end of the line. 

“Yes,” he says, blinking quickly.

Jeff holds up a container of peach Greek yogurt for Harry’s approval. Harry gestures for Jeff to hand it to him. He inspects the label and gives Jeff a thumbs up before he goes completely rigid, eyes widening almost comically. 

“What?” Jeff asks, his own face paling. _ God_, is everyone okay? Has something happened? Is it—

Like it happens in slow motion, Jeff watches as the container of yogurt slips from Harry’s hand and drops to the floor. The plastic must crack, because white goo and tiny chunks of fruit splatter all over the floor and their shoes. Neither of them flinch or try to stop it. Harry looks frozen and Jeff finds himself holding his breath.

Then Harry is nearly knocking Jeff over with the force of his impact as he wraps his arms around his shoulders and squeezes his neck like his life depends on it. Jeff staggers back for a second but gets his footing, looping his own arms around Harry’s waist. 

Faint and tinny sounding, a voice is coming from the speaker on Harry’s phone on the floor. It must have dropped during the crash. 

They separate for a brief moment so Harry can sheepishly pick it up. 

“Hello? Hi, sorry,” he says with a laugh, cheeks gone a rosy pink. 

He keeps nodding, even though the person on the other end can’t see him, offering a steady stream of _ yes _ ’s and _ okay _’s. He slips his free hand into Jeff’s, interlocking their fingers. Both of their palms are slightly sweaty. Jeff’s heart is still beating rabbit-fast in his chest. 

The grin on Harry’s face tells him everything, though. He just wants to hear Harry say it.

“Yeah that sounds great. Monday at eight. Okay. Thank you. Bye.”

“Was that…?” 

Harry’s face nearly splits in half. “Yeah,” he breathes. 

Jeff could blast through the ceiling with the force of his happiness. 

“Shit—really? Like, really really?”

Harry laughs. “Yes. One of them finally worked. We have an appointment on Monday to do the implantation thing.”

When they kiss, it tastes like salt from the happy stray tears that have managed to escape them both, and a bit like the bacon and egg sandwich Harry had for breakfast. People must think they’re complete weirdos, dropping groceries and having a half-formed conversation in the middle of the dairy section. That’s perfectly fine. They’re in a bubble right now. 

Eventually, though, Harry does track down an employee so he can get some paper towels to personally clean up the mess, despite being told that they’d take care of it for him. Jeff helps, even if that means he just stands there and supervises, handing Harry more paper towels upon his request and holding the dirty ones while he waits for him to be done. 

They go through the checkout line in a daze of elation. Jeff catches Harry smiling at a display of mints, his own face likely mirroring him. Everything seems better now that they’ve finally received some good news. Most of the other phone calls they’ve gotten have been to inform them that they’re going to try another egg and see how it does. Now they have this tiny scrap of hope to hold onto. It’s something tangible, something _ real _ , even though it doesn’t _ feel _real quite yet. Jeff is still wondering when that might happen. 

Even traffic can’t ruin their mood when they get stuck on the highway for an hour on the way home because of road work. The ice cream they bought might suffer, but it’s okay. Harry cranks the radio and sings along to The Rolling Stones, wiggling around in the passenger seat in a way that’s likely supposed to be dancing. He only gets caught in his seat belt twice. 

His laughter is infectious; nothing in particular is really funny, but they both end up laughing so hard that their stomachs hurt. 

“It’s your turn now. Show me what you got,” Harry says, giddy and giggling.

“I don’t have the same skill set that you do to pull off such a complicated move.”

“Of course you do, Jeffrey. Don’t put yourself down like that.”

Jeff has never been much of a dancer, but he supposes that this is fine. He’s sitting down, so no footwork is required. They’re stopped bumper-to-bumper and they haven’t moved in five minutes. So he squeezes his nose between his pointer finger and thumb, puffs out his cheeks, and flaps his free arm around in a poor imitation of a diver. Harry (reasonably) loses his mind, laughing so hard that he goes silent. 

The people in the surrounding cars better be enjoying the show. 

“You absolutely have to dance like that at our wedding,” Harry wheezes.

Jeff’s cheeks heat, heart hammering again. “Only if you do that horrible shoulder thrust.”

“Done.” Harry offers his hand for a handshake. 

They’ve never had a big discussion about it. It’s just simply gone unspoken. They went from being in a fledgling committed relationship to wholeheartedly agreeing that they’ll inevitably be married someday, not an ounce of trepidation in either of them. Jeff thanks his lucky stars for it every day. 

If anything, Jeff is more big on the idea of marriage than Harry is, but Harry likes to continually remind Jeff that he’s excited about it too. For Harry, spending his heats with Jeff and letting him mark his neck is more important than a government-issued piece of paper could ever be. But Harry also wants to do the whole big party with all their family and friends. Someday. Just not quite yet. 

Jeff shakes his hand, seriously for a moment, before he sneaks his finger back to tickle Harry’s palm. 

“Weirdo,” Harry says, his arm twitching but not pulling away.

“Pot meet kettle.”

Harry holds eye contact while he turns the radio knob, changing the station to something more pop-y, catching Destiny’s Child mid-song.

“You actin’ kinda shady, ain’t callin’ me baby,” Harry sings. 

Jeff shakes his head. 

The rest of the day is spent at home. They briefly entertained the idea of going out to celebrate, but Harry suggested that it would be best that they not get ahead of themselves. Instead, Harry makes something delicious and full of calories—some chicken dish that Jeff can’t remember the name of—and they stuff themselves full to the point where they’re worried about bursting open.

“I don’t think I can move,” Jeff says from where he’s sprawled on the recliner, his jeans both unbuttoned and unzipped. 

“Great. I can have the bed to myself tonight. I won’t have to worry about you being a big baby when I steal the blankets.”

“Brat. You hate sleeping alone. You’d end up out here on the couch the second you heard a noise.”

“Untrue,” Harry sniffs. Remote in hand, he scrolls through the channels for a bit before putting on _ House Hunters_, which used to be a point of contention in their house. Jeff would argue that the people on the show are unreasonable and difficult on purpose and Harry would counter that it was precisely that fact that made the show funny to watch. Now they mock the more ridiculous people together whenever one of them puts it on. 

“Hmm. Do you think Sandra’s must-have is a walk-in closet? Or hardwood floors?” Jeff asks.

Harry pretends to seriously ponder this, stroking his chin. “I think...that she’s the type to have wall paint be a deal-breaker.” He adopts a whiny falsetto. “I wanted sandstone and the bedroom is _ terracotta_. The audacity!”

Jeff snorts. “Please don’t make me laugh. I’ll throw up.”

Harry pulls the knit throw off the back of the couch and tucks it around himself. “Why’re you so far away?” 

“I’m just sitting here. I didn’t do it on purpose.”

Harry wiggles himself further into the cushions. “Come cuddle with me.”

“Why? So you can fart on me again? Or do you wanna scratch my ankles with your toe-claws?”

“I _ do not _ have toe-claws. And I didn’t _ fart _ on you, my stomach was just making weird noises, like, inside. Internally, _ whatever_. You know how I get after I eat a lot of cheese.”

“I definitely recall feeling a fart. Right against my thigh.” Jeff makes a circle with his pointer fingers and thumbs over the spot.

“You’re mean.” The blanket is pulled up over most of his face, but Jeff can still tell that Harry’s frowning. 

With an overdramatic, put-upon sigh, Jeff heaves himself out of his chair and walks the few short steps to the couch. He gets one of his knees on the space of cushion in front of Harry and leans down to blow a raspberry on his warm cheek.

Harry tries to stop him, blindly pressing his hands against Jeff’s face and chest and wherever else he can reach in an effort to shove him away while he squirms. 

“Stop—” Harry laughs breathlessly, “Jeff, _ gross_.”

Jeff pauses to dig his fingers into Harry’s armpits. “What?”

Harry writhes even more, his legs flailing wildly as Jeff tickles him. 

“Stop,” he giggles. “I’m serious.” His cheeks are pink and his mouth is parted, breaths puffing out into the space between them.

Jeff looks at him for a moment and a warmth settles over his entire body. He gives Harry a break and relents, tapping him gently on the hip. “Scoot over. Since you wanna cuddle so bad.”

Harry narrows his eyes at him but lifts the blankets so Jeff can slide in next to him. It’s a bit of a tight squeeze on their narrow couch, but with a few minor adjustments, they’re able to get relatively comfortable with Jeff flat on his back and Harry almost entirely on top of him. 

Harry props his head up on Jeff’s chest, so his chin is digging a little uncomfortably into his sternum. “Cozy,” he says with a leer and a purposeful nudge of his thigh against Jeff’s crotch. 

Jeff stares at him coolly. “Mhm.”

“‘S nice.” Harry gives another, firmer nudge.

“Can I help you with something?”

Harry shrugs. “I dunno. Can you?”

Jeff doesn’t know where this weird foreplay is coming from, but he’s not going to pretend that he doesn’t enjoy it. 

He flips Harry on the couch, slotting himself in between Harry’s legs and bracing his arms on either side of Harry’s head. He lets his hips drop a little, only to be met with Harry’s soft dick pressing against him. Jeff raises his eyebrows.

Harry pulls Jeff’s face down for a kiss. Against his lips, he whispers, “I wanna suck you off.”

Jeff pauses, his own dick suddenly very interested. But his dick isn’t the one in control of his speech. He says, “You don’t have to.”

Harry uses his forearm to push Jeff off of him. “Are you really trying to turn down head right now?”

Jeff sits back on his heels. “No. But, like. I just don’t want you to feel obligated or whatever.”

Harry’s expression turns flat and unimpressed. He swings his legs over and drops to the floor with a soft thud. “First of all, oral isn’t an obligation,” he says while arranging Jeff’s limbs, making him sit on the edge of the couch cushion. Jeff lets himself be moved to Harry’s specifications. “Secondly, do you really think I’d do _ anything _if I didn’t really want to?”

Jeff does a lot of things that he doesn’t necessarily want to. Not _ sex things_, and especially not sex things with Harry. But it strikes him how different he and Harry are sometimes. 

“Well then. Please, go right ahead.” Jeff makes a sweeping gesture like a TV presenter.

Harry smirks, green eyes glinting. “_ A-head_. Get it?”

“That’s terrible, even for you,” Jeff admonishes, wrinkling his nose. 

Unbothered, Harry shrugs and pushes Jeff’s legs further apart so he can shoulder in between them. When Harry starts to slide Jeff’s shorts and underwear down, he helpfully lifts his hips for him. Harry doesn’t bother taking them all the way off, getting the waistband just above Jeff’s knees before he wraps a hand around his cock. 

He’s still mostly soft, but certainly on his way to perking up. Still, it doesn’t stop Harry from ducking down and getting the entirety of Jeff’s length into his warm, wet mouth. 

Jeff makes an inarticulate noise, his eyes scrunching shut at the sensation. It’s a lot right away: painful, almost, how quickly all of his blood seems to immediately rush to his groin. And Harry just keeps holding him there, letting Jeff get thicker and longer with each passing second, laving his tongue over the underside, alternating between soft steady sucks and letting his mouth be just the right amount of loose. 

“Christ,” Jeff mutters, hips tilting upwards completely out of his control.

Harry bobs his head to accommodate, looking up at Jeff from under his lashes and making him groan. 

The wet sound of Harry pulling off makes somewhere deep in Jeff’s gut clench hotly. Keeping his tongue wide and flat, Harry uses his hand to keep Jeff’s cock steady while he licks over the head with broad swipes. He moves in circles around it, dipping into the slit every so often, and pausing to pay special attention to the ridge underneath. 

Jeff’s toes curl into the carpet, his thighs tensing and releasing. He can feel sweat starting to form on his forehead, his blunt fingernails scratching at the couch on either side of his hips. 

When Harry hums, Jeff can’t stop the moan he lets out: deep and guttural, like it’s been pulled from the bottom of his lungs. 

“Oh my god,” he wheezes. Harry just squeezes his calf with his free hand. 

Jeff needs something to hold on to. He slides his fingers through the hair at the top of Harry’s head, gripping gently, not to direct him but just as a point of contact. 

Jerking off in the shower has been treating him just fine, but this is something else. Jeff doesn’t mind a bit of chatter during sex—it would be impossible to be with Harry if he did—but he feels compelled to sing Harry's praises right now. 

“_Fuck_. So—so good, babe.”

Harry’s hand is still wrapped around the base, so when he takes Jeff fully into his mouth again and slides down, his lips meet his own fingers. There’s a sudden flood of moisture as Harry pushes some spit out so it gathers over his knuckles and runs over his fist, making things wetter and noisier. 

He pulls off again and starts up a slow, tight rhythm with his hand, pressing his lips to the shaft in a surprisingly sweet kiss. 

“Okay?” Harry asks, voice scratchy.

Jeff’s whole pelvis feels like a red hot coal. It would be embarrassing how close he is already if he wasn’t so preoccupied with making sure that Harry keeps his mouth on him forever. 

“Wonderful. Truly—_oh_—truly superb work.”

Harry barely lets him finish speaking before he’s back on him, cupping Jeff’s balls with his free hand, thumbing the seam, and using the faintest scrape of teeth that has Jeff sucking in a sharp breath. The feeling of Harry smirking around his dick—lips tight, sucking softly—is truly indescribable. 

Jeff swallows thickly. He’s at a rolling boil now, finding it harder and harder to control the sounds spilling from his mouth and the jerks of his hips. Harry is bobbing his head more quickly but he’s still steady as ever, his movements focused and attentive. 

There’s no need for fancy tricks anymore; just the heat of his mouth and the slight bit of friction is more than enough. Harry moves both of his hands to the spread of Jeff’s thighs and curls his fingers over the soft skin of his groin, slipping upwards to trace lightly over his hip bones.

The juxtaposition of the vicious way he’s sucking the head of Jeff’s cock and the gentleness of his touch is what sends Jeff over the edge. He doesn’t have time to verbally warn him; Harry seems to know anyway. 

He looks up at Jeff one final time before Jeff is helpless to the pull of orgasm and shuts his eyes. But the image of Harry swallowing around him may as well be burned onto his retinas. 

Harry gentles his mouth when Jeff starts to shiver, keeping up the light strokes of his fingers over Jeff’s clenching lower stomach. 

It’s noisy when Harry finally lets Jeff fall from between his lips, his cock settling into the crease of his hip, warm and tender. Jeff hears the soft scrape of skin-on-skin, and while he can’t see it, he can perfectly imagine Harry using the back of his wrist to wipe his mouth and chin. 

Jeff breathes for a few more moments, head tipped back against the couch, not caring that he likely looks a little gross with sweat on his face and around his collar, and his rapidly softening dick still out with his pants half down. Harry shuffles around, and then the cushion next to Jeff dips and there’s a warm, solid body pressed to his side. 

Harry cuddles up to him like a cat, wiggling his way under Jeff’s arm. With one eye cracked open, Jeff turns his head to look at him.

“You look pleased with yourself,” he deadpans, except it isn’t as flat as he intended. His voice is still a bit pitchy from the comedown.

“I _ am _ pleased with myself. I like doing that. Like doing that for _ you_.”

Jeff’s cheeks reheat. He tightens his arm around Harry. “Want me to return the favor?”

It’s Harry’s turn to go pink. He looks torn—biting his lower lip and shifting in his spot. Jeff doesn’t know if he’s trying to create friction or avoid it, given the lump under his sweatpants. 

“No,” he says. He wrinkles his nose. “Not supposed to. Like, I don’t think it would be _ bad _for it. But I still don’t want to take any chances.”

Jeff nods. “Is there anything I can do for you, though?”

Harry considers this for a few seconds, slipping his hand under Jeff’s t-shirt like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. Then, a devious little grin takes over his face. 

“Anything?” he asks.

With a sigh that conveys his immediate regret, Jeff says, “Yep. Anything.”

Harry tugs at some of the hairs around Jeff’s belly button. His voice is slippery and sweet. “Let me wax your chest. And then I wanna watch _ The Notebook._ _Ooh_. And, I’d like a massage.”

Jeff can feel his face warp into an expression of horror. “That’s like, a million things. I said _ one_. And hey—I thought you _ liked _the chest hair.”

Harry slips his hand further up Jeff’s shirt and scratches lightly at said chest hair. “Oh, I do. I just wanted to see what you’d say. It could be kinda sexy, though...Maybe you’d enjoy it.”

“Absolutely not, you little weirdo. We’re not all masochists.”

“Fine.” Harry kisses Jeff’s shoulder. “I would like those other things, though. If you feel so inclined.”

“A massage and a lame movie? I think I can swing it.”

Harry ignores the subtle jab and kisses Jeff again, this time on the juncture of his neck. “Mm. Good. Because my back has been bothering me and Ryan Gosling is calling my name right now.”

Jeff rolls his eyes. “Ryan Gosling,” he mutters.

“Don’t be like that, Jeffrey. He’s very handsome and you know it. And put some pants on please, before you catch a draft.”

Jeff had forgotten, actually. He extricates himself from Harry’s hold, wincing slightly at how stiff his knees are, and pulls his pants and underwear back up. 

“Where are you going?” Harry is already stretched out on the couch again.

“Bathroom. And I’m gonna grab the lotion.”

Harry smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Love you. You’re the best.”

As he’s walking away, Jeff flatly says, “Yeah, yeah.” But he’s smiling too. 

***

51 Lincoln Ave - Irvine - September 28, 2018 

Jeff has barely made it past the threshold of Glenne’s house when two things happen near-simultaneously: his right foot skids across the floor because he’s stepped on what appears to be a miniature plastic corn-on-the-cob, and thirty pounds of overzealous toddler launch themselves at his shins.

“Jeffrey!" Ellis, said overzealous toddler, yells.

Jeff steadies himself with a hand braced on the doorframe. 

“Ellie-belly! What’s up, punk?”

“I painted.”

Jeff gasps. “You did? Where?”

“I show you,” she says very seriously, grabbing one of Jeff’s hands and guiding him through the living room and into the kitchen where they find Glenne.

Jeff greets her with a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Hi, how’s it going?”

Glenne is cutting a block of cheddar into small slices, a tray of crackers and pepperoni waiting next to them. She looks effortlessly put together in a way that he’s always envied, from her perfectly casual t-shirt and jeans to the bun on her head that’s just the right amount of messy. She smells nice, too. She still wears the same perfume that she did when they were in college together. 

“Oh, you know. Same old. How are you?”

He takes off his jacket and drapes it over one of the chairs at the table. 

“Fine. Can’t complain.”

“Where’s Harry?” she asks, opening the oven to check on what’s inside, sending a waft of apple and cinnamon into the air. 

“Working. They kinda flipped his schedule for no reason, so he’s been doing more days.”

“Might be nice, though. If he has nights off.”

“Yeah, it’s nice.”

Glenne pauses and gives him a narrow look. Thankfully, Ellis interrupts them, tugging on Jeff’s hand and directing him over to her little easel. 

“Look!” she says, jumping excitedly. 

“Call the Louvre. Move over da Vinci. We have an _ artiste _on our hands.” He flaps his arms around dramatically.

“Do you want one?” Ellis asks, looking up at Jeff with big, bright brown eyes, pigtails flopping as she bounces from foot to foot.

“I would_ love it _ if you made me a picture.”

Ellis gets to work and Jeff takes his cue to stand by the cheese and crackers and fill his face. 

Shortly after, Glenne’s wife Olivia comes home with a tray of lasagna from an Italian shop she swears by, and all of them, including Ellis, settle in at the table to dig in. Jeff isn’t sure what Harry’s plans are for dinner, so he tries to keep it light to save room for later. After their plates have been cleared, Olivia takes Ellis upstairs for a bath to remove all of the red sauce from her face and hair, while Jeff and Glenne retire to the living room. 

The couches are huge and plush. Jeff nearly sinks into the back cushion and fears that he might be stuck there permanently. But it does offer an excuse to avoid eye contact when Glenne hits him with, “So what’s really going on? You’re not telling me something.”

She’s always been like this. When they dated however many years ago, she could always tell when he was lying or being avoidant. Not that he _ lied _about important stuff. He’s just never been very forthcoming about certain things. Harry is really the only one who knows how to wiggle things out of him without Jeff even realizing what’s happening. 

“...No. Everything is fine,” Jeff says breezily.

“You’re such a shit liar.” Glenne laughs and tosses a decorative pillow at him.

He manages to deflect it, sending it tumbling to the floor. “I’m being serious. Everything is good. I’m happy.”

“Mhm.”

“What?”

Glenne shrugs. “I’m just saying. I don’t think you’re _ unhappy_. I just think something is going on.”

Jeff swallows. “What do you mean?”

“I dunno. I can’t tell what it is. But it’s something.”

There’s a loose thread on a throw blanket that Jeff pulls at for a second before stopping himself. He’s afraid to say it out loud to anyone that isn’t a doctor, a nurse, or Harry. Like simply speaking the words out loud will make everything fizzle and disappear, nothing but a mirage all along. 

He itches his nose before speaking. “Harry and I are doing IVF.”

In the span of a few seconds, Glenne goes from smiling brightly to having it slide right off her face. “Oh..._Oh_.” 

Jeff stares at his own lap.

“That’s good. It’s a good thing, right? I mean, I just—”

“I hope it’s gonna be a good thing,” Jeff admits. “We—well, Harry, uhm. Had a miscarriage. A few months ago—”

“Oh my God. _ Jeff_. Why didn’t you say anything?”

“We didn’t want people to know. Still don’t. We never even told anyone we were _ trying_. Harry wanted to surprise our parents, but we never got far along enough to make the big announcement. It’s probably better it worked out that way.” He lets out a short, humorless laugh. 

Glenne moves from the couch opposite him to sit practically in his lap, wrapping her arms around his shoulders. “Jeff, I’m so sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

“I know, but still. That’s so awful. You could’ve _ told me_. You shouldn’t have to keep shit like that to yourself.”

“We didn’t want it to be a whole big thing. The only people that know are my parents, Allison, and Harry’s mom. And Harry didn’t even want to tell _ them_.”

She rubs his back and scratches his head gently. Such a _ parent_. It makes him smile a bit, despite everything. 

“Okay. But, everyone is healthy? Like, how’s the whole thing going so far? I know it isn’t a fun process. Olivia has a cousin who went through it and she was kinda miserable the entire time.”

Something in Jeff’s gut twists at that, but he takes a deep breath and ignores it. “It’s going okay so far. I dunno. I think. Harry’s on all sorts of meds and stuff. I’ve been giving him injections at home for hormones and, like, egg production. We were just at the clinic the other day, and they did a collection procedure. One of the eggs actually, uhm, developed right. And we got the call to make an appointment so they can put it in or whatever. So, yeah.”

“That’s _ great_. Seriously, that’s so good. I’m happy for you guys. You’ll both make great parents. I can’t wait to see you with a baby of your own.”

Jeff resists the urge to sit forward and knock his knuckles against the wooden coffee table. He can’t stop his cheeks from heating, though. 

Maybe it should be weird, hearing those words come from an ex-girlfriend. When they broke up, he was mostly relieved: not because he was happy they were splitting up, but because it was clear they wanted different things. It’s obvious now, that they’re better suited as just friends. But he wondered (and occasionally still does, in his deepest moments of reflection) what it might have been like if they stuck it out. If he and Glenne were the ones trying for a family together right now. Two betas, nothing out of the ordinary. Would they face the same troubles? Would that make it better somehow: more justifiable that he and Harry are jumping through hoops? Or would it be worse, if he and Glenne were able to get it on the first try?

He shakes his head to clear it. That’s not important. It’s such a far-off thing that he feels stupid for even entertaining it. His life is with Harry—who has never, _ ever _made Jeff feel like he isn’t enough—and he wouldn’t change any of it. He shoos the thoughts out of his brain. 

“Harry wants it so bad,” Jeff says quietly. “I—I don’t know what’s gonna happen if it doesn’t work.”

Glenne doesn’t say what he was expecting. He loves her fiercely for it, that she doesn’t have time for platitudes and glossing over things. “Harry’s gonna be a great dad, too. He’s a tough cookie. If things go south, you’ll both pull through. I know you—you’ll see it through ‘til the end.”

Jeff’s insides turn to liquid, like everything is going to burst from his pores. “Thank you. And I’m sorry for not telling you when it happened. I probably could’ve used someone to talk to.”

“Don’t apologize. Just keep me filled in this time. You know, if you want to.” 

“I will. Promise.” He pats her forearm.

It’s less pronounced now, but Glenne is still looking at him oddly. Not scrutinizing. Searching, maybe. He just hopes it isn’t pity. He couldn’t take that, especially from her. 

Whatever it is, she doesn’t dwell on it. “I think that apple pie should be cool enough to eat now. And I have vanilla ice cream in the fridge. You want some?” she asks, a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. 

“Abso-fucking-lutely.” 

***

Anaheim - September 30, 2018

Harry looks at Jeff over the top of his menu, all big green eyes and forehead. Jeff can still tell that he’s wrinkling his nose a bit. 

“Food’s a little expensive here,” Harry says lightly.

“It’s really good, though. Worth it.”

Harry doesn’t argue, busying himself with browsing again. 

He’s been testier than usual for the past couple of days, and it’s not just because of the injections and other medications. He’s stressed and anxious, and has been taking it out mostly on Jeff. Which is fine. Jeff can handle it. 

The restaurant _ is _a little pricey, but he wanted to do something nice for Harry. They have the implantation appointment tomorrow morning, and while they won’t know the results for a bit, Jeff is taking preemptive measures to cushion things as much as possible, even if that means dipping into the money that they should probably be saving.

Harry was exhausted when he came home from work earlier, but he dutifully took a shower and got dressed in a fitted baby pink button-down and the trousers he saves for special occasions. In the bathroom while combing his hair into pseudo-order, he looked fresh-faced and lovely with bare feet and his shirt completely open. Jeff wanted to touch him all over, except Harry has continued to cling strictly to the doctors’ suggestion that they avoid sex. 

At the table, Jeff _still_ wants to touch him all over, but he makes an effort to redirect his traitorous brain, as not to telepathically offend Harry somehow by simply thinking something illicit. So Jeff is civil, politely requesting a bottle of sparkling grape juice to share and ordering the appetizer that Harry suggests. 

When the bottle arrives and their glasses are filled, Harry goes to take a sip but stops himself. With his eyes on the table, he tentatively asks, “What are we toasting to?”

Jeff hesitates. Harry has said it himself, that they aren’t celebrating. Not yet. Jeff can barely think about the trajectory of their path without feeling panicky. He can’t focus on things in terms of ‘a week from now’ or ‘a month from now’ even though this whole process so far has been made up of carefully-placed dates and timetables. What he wants to do is focus on _ right now_, on what’s in front of him. 

He clears his throat and raises his glass. “To right now.” 

Harry quickly ducks his head. When he looks back up at Jeff, his eyes are glittering. He doesn’t try to hide the thickness of his voice. “To right now.”

Carefully, they clink their glasses together and each take a sip. The corners of Harry’s mouth turn up.

“Fizzy,” he says.

“I like it. It’s like there’s a party in my mouth.”

Harry nearly chokes on his next sip, snorting undignifiably into his glass. He jokingly glares at Jeff. 

“Don’t say stuff like that when I’m trying to _ drink_. You almost made it come out of my nose,” Harry whines.

“This place is a little stuffy. I think you turning into a sprinkler might be just what it needs.”

Harry kicks him under the table. Jeff smiles widely, pleased with himself. 

Their food arrives not long after. Jeff ordered steak while Harry opted for salmon and veggies. Jeff isn’t sure that everything is necessarily worth almost thirty dollars per plate, but his stomach doesn’t seem to mind. The way Harry practically inhales his dinner tells him that he’d have to agree. 

When they’re finished, their server offers them a dessert menu, but Harry gives him an alarmed look so Jeff declines and asks for the check. 

Harry makes a little face at the bill, but doesn’t otherwise comment, simply doing the math in his head and digging around in his wallet to pull out what is certainly a twenty-five percent tip. Jeff puts his credit card on the table in a well-practiced routine of theirs. Their server returns to collect the card and let them know that he’ll be back in a second. 

“Do you wanna go to Baker’s?” Harry asks.

Jeff snorts. “Uh, obviously.”

Harry’s shoulders drop, relieved. “Okay, good. Because I was checking out what they have here and it looks like fancy, weird rich people dessert stuff. And I really just want ice cream with, like, a fuckton of peanut butter on it.”

Jeff puts a hand over his own heart. “This. _ This _is why I love you the most.” 

Predictably, for a Sunday night, Baker’s Ice Cream Shop is pretty dead. Harry orders his three scoops of PB fudge with peanut butter sauce and peanut M&M’s (in a cup with a cone on the side, of course), and without an audience, Jeff is able to guilt-free ask for birthday cake in a waffle cone with rainbow sprinkles and a few gummy bears just for fun. 

They get the good table by the window so they can watch the traffic and passersby, and Harry only manages to get sauce on his shirt _ once_. 

“I’m gonna have to spray and wash it when we get home,” Harry says, staring forlornly at the stain before scooping a heaping amount of ice cream onto his spoon and jamming the entire thing into his mouth. 

“What ever happened to those Tide sticks? Did they even work?”

Through his mouthful, Harry mumbles, “I dunno. My mom used to keep one in her purse but I never saw her use it.”

“Even around you? Godspilla himself?”

Harry narrows his eyes. “Eat your ice cream, Jeffrey.” 

At home, after they’ve both stripped out of their nice clothes and gotten into bed, Jeff leans over and kisses Harry on the mouth. 

“Mm. You taste like peanut butter.”

Harry wiggles his eyebrows. “Sexy, right?” This time he initiates the kiss, slipping Jeff his soft warm tongue.

“You taste like...a lot of things. Which is why you’re a weirdo for mixing gummy bears and baked goods.”

“Is it technically a baked good, though? If it’s only cake _ batter _and not cooked?”

Harry rolls his eyes and flops over like he’s going to pull the covers up over his head, but Jeff catches him around the waist and keeps him close, their bare chests touching. 

Harry’s eyes are wide and almost challenging, his lips quirked slightly. He strokes his hand over Jeff’s pectoral, scratching through the hair there. It’s suggestive enough, but Jeff still isn’t exactly sure what’s acceptable and what isn’t. Their instructions for what types of activities to avoid have been equal parts vague and overly specific. 

He knows that intercourse is off the table for a while, but he’d still _ really _like to get Harry off. So he tells him as much because it can’t hurt to try. 

Harry’s smile turns bittersweet. “I’d rather...not. If that’s okay.” He won’t meet Jeff’s eyes.

Genuinely curious, Jeff asks, “Still?”

Harry opens his mouth to speak but closes it quickly. He pats Jeff’s chest once before putting some space between them, stretching out on his back. Jeff feels the loss of him acutely. 

“We can, I guess. It won’t mess things up like before. But,” he pauses, and Jeff watches as he pulls at a piece of skin next to his thumbnail so far back that it starts to bleed, “I just don’t really want to.”

Jeff grabs his hand, careful to avoid the fresh cut. “Hey. Remember when you said that you only want something if we both want it? That applies to this stuff too, Harry. We don’t have to do anything you don’t want. And I don’t want you to feel _ bad _about it.”

Jeff’s words seem to have the opposite effect of what he intended. If anything, Harry looks more stricken than before. “I can’t believe I’ve been so miserable lately and you’re still..._you_.”

“Is that...a good or bad thing here?” 

“_Good_. Too good. I’ve been mean and snappy because I’m nervous and feel like I could cry at any second, but you’re just patient and wonderful and—” he cuts himself off. At the very mention of crying, tears start to well up in his eyes and now they finally spill over. He chokes on a sob before Jeff wraps his arms around him and squeezes tightly. 

“I love you,” Jeff soothes. “Don’t think like that, babe. I don’t want you to feel bad about anything. You’re the greatest thing I could have ever imagined happening to me. Don’t cry. Please don’t cry.”

Jeff feels like he has whiplash from how quickly the mood has changed. Harry has been generally weepy for the past couple months, but this is a new dam being broken. Or perhaps it’s an old one, having been patchily repaired after the first miscarriage, but it wasn’t enough. Because Harry’s cracking apart in his arms, spilling and overflowing with hurt and grief, and Jeff doesn’t know how to fix it.

So he simply holds him. Rocks him slightly and whispers in his ear, “It’s okay. It’s okay.”

After a few minutes, Jeff starts to hum a random tune, something soft and gentle that reminds him of when he was small, and how his mother would do the same when he was upset. His skin is damp near his shoulder and neck from Harry’s tears, Harry gripping Jeff’s opposite shoulder with white knuckles.

Jeff adjusts them a bit, because his back is starting to hurt, pulling Harry fully across his lap so he can cradle him properly, tucking his head over the top of Harry’s.

Time passes at an odd pace. It feels like hours before Harry finally starts to settle down, his terrible, aching cries tapering off into disjointed hiccups and sniffles. When Jeff chances a peek at his face, Harry’s skin is blotchy and wet. The circles under his eyes are even more pronounced and his lashlines are ringed red.

Jeff swipes a thumb over his cheek, collecting a bit of lingering moisture. 

“I love you,” he repeats. “No matter anything that happens, I love you.” 

Harry’s lower lip wobbles, his chin quilting. But the fresh tears that appear don’t fall. His voice is hoarse and crackly. “I love you, too. So much.”

Jeff kisses him, gentle and chaste. “You good now? You’re okay?”

Harry lets out a long breath and a shaky laugh. “Yeah. Sorry. ‘M good.”

“You’re allowed to be upset. Just hate seeing you cry like that.”

Harry snorts, but his nose is clogged so it makes him cough a bit. “Get used to it. If things go well tomorrow I’m gonna be unbearable.”

Jeff could sigh with relief. They both need a little optimism right now. “You never know. It could be just like the magazines. With the glow and sparkles and magic.”

“I fucking hope so. I just wanna skip all the bad stuff. Like puking and breaking out. And getting hairy in weird places.”

“If it makes you feel any better, even if you wind up looking super gross, you’ll still be number one in my spank bank.”

Harry squirms in Jeff’s hold. He manages to extricate one of his arms and flicks him lightly on the forehead. “Gee, thanks.”

“You’re welcome.”

“Can you let me up? I wanna brush my teeth and stuff.”

They both find themselves at the sink, brushing their teeth side-by-side. Jeff bumps Harry with his hip. Harry smiles at him in the mirror, mouth all foamy with drool threatening to fall on the counter. His eyes are still a bit red and he looks like he needs a solid week of sleep, but Jeff has never seen anyone more beautiful in his life.

He rinses his own mouth and touches Harry’s waist just below his ribs. “What time do you want me to set the alarm for?”

“Six? So we can shower quick and you can stop for coffee.”

“Okie dokie.”

Jeff slides back under the covers while Harry finishes up in the bathroom. He listens as the tap turns on and off as Harry methodically scrubs his face clean, and hears the toilet flush once before Harry comes sauntering back into their room. 

He kicks his briefs off and slides into bed next to Jeff, scooting over to press all of his warm skin up against him. Jeff clicks the bedside lamp off and gets comfortable, adjusting his position so they’re both where they like to be: Harry curled up on his side with Jeff wrapped around him from behind.

Harry falls asleep quickly. Jeff can tell by the way his breathing goes deep and shallow, the movement of his ribs under Jeff’s arm slowing. Only once he’s sure that Harry is out does Jeff allow himself to drift off, warm and content, but ready for the other shoe to drop.


	2. Always Line Your Pans

***

Los Angeles IVF Clinic - October 1, 2018

Harry’s hospital band closes around his wrist with a snap. The nurse leaves them so that Harry can get changed into his gown while Jeff finishes up with the paperwork. They’re both quiet, aside from the swish of clothes being removed and Jeff’s pen scratching against the clipboard on his lap. 

“Can you hold my phone for me?”

“Yeah,” Jeff says. He takes it from Harry and slides it into his front pocket.

He can now recite Harry’s information the same way he can recite his childhood house phone number. This Trying to Have a Baby business is mostly filling out forms and signing names. Sometimes when he sleeps, he dreams of repeating rote memorization facts: Harry Edward Styles; February 1, 1994; 23 Tristin Drive; etc. etc. etc. 

Jeff shouldn’t complain, though. Yet again, he gets to sit in a waiting room while Harry is the one having another procedure done. No anesthesia this time, though. According to Dr. Avery, the whole thing should only take about fifteen minutes, just like the other. Quick and efficient.

It hits Jeff, then, why every time he thinks about what they’re doing, he ends up caught in this weird place between excited and uncertain. The fact that they keep having to go to various appointments and Harry has to get injections and be poked and prodded regularly. 

Today is embryo transfer day. The implantation process is described like some weird alien experiment. But Jeff just has to keep reminding himself that this is what they want—for Harry to get pregnant and _ stay _ pregnant. 

Just as Harry sits noisily on the crinkly paper of the exam table, there’s two quick knocks on the door. 

“Come in,” Harry says.

“Hello, boys.” Dr. Avery greets them with a smile. “I just wanted to check in before Dr. Suntag gets here. How’re we feeling today, Harry?”

“Good,” he laughs, thin and brittle. “Nervous, but good.”

“That’s perfectly fine. Par for the course, really. But we’re going to try our best today to make sure things go well for you. Now, have you been drinking plenty of water? We need your bladder on the full side for the ultrasound to work properly.”

Harry’s cheeks flush. “Yeah. I drank two bottles on our way over here.”

“Great. You just sit tight then, and you’ll be able to use the bathroom as soon as you’re done.”

Shortly after Dr. Avery leaves, Dr. Suntag takes her place, like a revolving door of people coming in and out constantly. She’s older than Dr. Avery, with lines of gray streaked through the hair by her temples, a contrast to the deep black that surrounds them. Her eyes are dark, too: warm and a bit like looking at an eclipse.

“So,” she says, looking pleased. “I have something to show you two.”

From the folder she placed on the table, she pulls out a shiny 4x3 black and white photo. The image is blurry-looking, with no real distinguishable features aside from a light gray blob in the middle. 

“This,” she circles the blob with the cap end of her pen, “is your embryo.”

Jeff’s stomach falls somewhere between his knees. He can hear Harry’s intake of breath, but Jeff can’t force himself to look away from the tiny picture. 

“We took this just a little while ago, when we had it under the microscope for some final checks.”

She hands the picture to Harry, who takes it with shaking fingers. He holds it like it’s made of glass, bringing it up close enough to his face that there’s no way he can see it clearly. Jeff watches as Harry’s throat bobs on a swallow, and then he notices the way Harry’s eyes have gone red and watery. 

“Oh my God,” Harry whispers. 

Jeff’s own eyes start to water and sting. He feels like he’s walking on air as he gets up from his seat to stand next to Harry, craning his neck over his shoulder so he can have the same view as him, but Harry’s head is obstructing most of it. 

Harry’s shoulder is warm against his own. Jeff tucks an arm around Harry’s waist so he can press them further together. He can feel the muscles around Harry’s ribs and back contract against his stomach while he tries to keep his crying at bay. They’re good tears. At least Jeff's are. He’s so happy right now that he fears it might all bubble up out of him like a science fair project volcano. 

Harry holds the picture up for Jeff to see. 

Jeff stops breathing. It doesn’t look anything like a baby. It _ isn’t _ a baby. Right now, it’s just a bundle of cells that _ could _ be a baby, and that spark of possibility is enough. 

“Not all of the eggs that were collected developed correctly, which is what usually happens. But this and a few others did really well. You decided to have the other ones frozen, correct?”

“Yes,” Harry says, voice thick.

“Yeah,” Jeff says at the same time, exhaling in a big rush of air. 

“Wonderful. That’s very smart of you. Hopefully this one will implant correctly and we won’t have to worry about the others. But it’s good to have a back-up plan.” 

Harry’s still holding the photo delicately between his index fingers and thumbs. It’s wobbling in the air a bit, from the way his arms and hands are still shaking. Jeff tightens the arm he has around his waist in a reassuring squeeze and kisses his shoulder where his gown has slipped down slightly and revealed a patch of smooth, freckled skin.

“So a PGS has already been done to make sure that the embryo is healthy, and all of its measurements are right where they should be. You,” she gestures to Harry, “have already had your mock transfer done, so this should be very easy.”

“Hope so,” Harry says quietly. 

“All right,” Dr. Suntag clasps her hands together. “I’m going to head back to the lab to get things ready. You’ll wait here, and a nurse will come get you for the procedure, okay?”

Jeff nods and smiles politely. The door clicks shut and they’re alone again. 

“It’s so weird looking at this.” Harry sounds distant, far away.

“It looks like it was taken with an early two-thousands flip phone.”

Harry doesn’t laugh. Jeff slides both of his hands up to the tops of Harry’s shoulders, near his neck. Under his palms, Jeff can feel every ounce of tension that Harry is holding. With careful motions, Jeff uses his thumbs and knuckles to try and soothe the tightest spots, silently urging Harry to relax a bit. 

He wants to tell him that everything is going to be fine, but he can’t make himself say the words. He doesn’t want to make promises when he has no control over whether he’ll be keeping them or not. The enormity of the uncertainty that Jeff feels must be ten times worse for Harry. Harry, who has the crushing weight of one miscarriage already under his belt and too-many-to-count failed attempts at getting pregnant. Harry, whose body seemingly rejects the idea of getting pregnant and remaining that way. 

Their first OB, who was lovely and kind and actually recommended this clinic to them, was puzzled by their inability to successfully conceive. Dr. Thaler, an older man, probably in his sixties, with white hair and a gentle face, had said, “Both of your blood work results are fine. You’re both healthy. I don’t understand what’s going on in that cranky uterus of yours, Harry.”

It was discouraging. Unnerving, even, to have a doctor at a loss as to how to help you. 

“Is it, uhm. Is it because I’m a, you know. Not an alpha?” Jeff had stumbled his way through asking. 

“No, no.” Dr. Thaler assured. “That’s not the issue. Betas and omegas have children together all the time. Even two omegas can. It can certainly be a little trickier, but it’s not impossible.”

It seemed that with every new question they tried to have answered, it opened up even more in the process. 

And now, here they are, with none of those questions answered, still trying to make this work. Harry turns to Jeff with a weary expression, his brows pinched and his mouth a thin line. “I wish you could come with me.”

Jeff does, too. Harry was crestfallen when he found out that Jeff wouldn't be allowed in the room with him for the procedure, as it was the clinic’s policy. They tried to see if they could work around it, make a tiny exception this one time, but evidently rules are rules. 

“I know, babe. I’d be back there if I could. But it’s gonna be over quick.”

The ‘V’ between Harry’s eyebrows deepens as he closes his eyes tightly. 

Jeff doesn’t get the chance to ask what’s troubling him. A nurse comes in to let them know the room is all ready for Harry, and that Jeff can wait in the waiting room. Harry looks like he’s seconds away from wrapping himself around Jeff’s leg and not letting go, so Jeff takes Harry’s face in between his hands. 

“Are you excited? I know I’m excited. It’s just a few minutes, H. Then we can go home and do nothing for the rest of the day, all right?”

Harry nods quickly, loose curls bouncing on the top of his head. “Yeah. I’ll be fine.” He takes a few measured breaths.

As Harry’s exhaling, Jeff kisses him on the mouth, soft, reverent. Harry sighs into it, wrapping his arms around Jeff’s neck with the photograph still clutched in one hand. Harry’s talking without actually saying anything. Words aren’t needed when his lips tell Jeff _ I love you_. _ I’m scared_. _ Don’t let go_.

Reluctantly, Jeff forces himself to separate from him. He rubs Harry’s biceps like he’s trying to warm him up. “Come on. Like a bandaid. You’ll be in and out.”

“Okay,” Harry says. 

“Can I have this while I wait for you?” Jeff gently taps the picture of the embryo, one of its corners now a little bent. 

Harry hands it to him without breaking eye contact. Jeff traces the edge of it with his thumb. 

“I love you,” Jeff says, punctuating it with one final kiss. 

Harry cups Jeff’s cheek, a single finger reaching back to gently stroke the edge of Jeff’s ear. He visibly steels himself, stepping back and dropping his arm back down to his side. Like he has a string attached to his spine that’s being pulled upwards, he stands up taller, shoulders set. His toes and knees are still pointed inwards, though, and it makes Jeff smile as he looks at him. 

Jeff only heads out after Harry has disappeared around the corner, shuffling as he follows a nurse. 

The waiting room is empty aside from Jeff and a TV that’s showing the news with the volume muted. He sits in the same chair he always does: three in from the end and opposite the office door. 

He places the photograph in his lap face-up so he can look at it, even though he really isn’t sure if there’s anything that he’s supposed to be able to make out from the smudge of black and gray. Still, it makes his stomach flip when he does. 

His phone buzzes in his pocket, which is odd considering that he always has his phone on silent. As he pulls it out, he discovers that it’s actually not his phone at all, but Harry’s. He’d forgotten that he’d taken it for him. 

On the lockscreen is a single text message from Anne that says: _ Lovely! Xo _.

With the notification in the way, Jeff and Harry’s heads are cut off, but he still knows exactly which picture Harry’s lockscreen is. It’s from a couple summers ago, when they went on vacation in Europe. It was a gift for Harry’s graduation from nursing school. Jeff was barely paying attention when Harry snapped a picture of the two of them while they were on a train in France. There’s a section of his face that’s blurry, and one of Harry’s eyes is extra squinty, but Jeff loves the picture anyway. It seems like Harry does, too. 

Just like during the egg retrieval, Jeff can’t keep his mind away from what’s happening to Harry behind the door and down the hall. He had felt phantom pains in his own lower body when Dr. Avery outlined the procedure in the office at one of their last appointments: tables with stirrups, speculums, catheters, and syringes, all of it sounding positively medieval. 

Thinking about it now still makes him shiver. He’s so lucky that Harry is strong and brave. He’s certain that Harry would walk across hot coals if it meant they would get a baby at the end. Jeff wonders, then, what limits Harry would go to for them and the baby they dream of having. It frightens Jeff when he realizes that he doesn’t know if a limit does exist—that Harry would potentially put himself in real harm’s way. 

Jeff flips the picture over; he doesn’t want to get too attached, whether it be to this bundle of cells, or just to the idea of a baby finally being granted to them. Harry is his priority right now. Harry, and making sure that they’re both going to be okay at the end of this, whether the results are good or bad. 

He pulls out his own phone and opens up the Solitaire app. It’s a go-to of his if he wants to take his mind off things. He loses two games and wins one, and has just started a fourth game when he’s called back again. 

Harry is in the same room they started in, once again sitting on the exam table with the sanitary crinkle paper. He looks like he’s barely breathing: back straight and rigid, face pale, eyes determined even though he’s clearly scared shitless. 

Jeff nearly collapses at the sight of him. He feels a bit silly; the procedure wasn’t risky, and according to everyone they’ve spoken to, it isn’t supposed to be painful, either. But seeing Harry for the first time in a handful of minutes might as well be the same as seeing him for the first time in ten years. 

If Harry didn’t look like he was afraid to blink the wrong way, Jeff would pick him up and spin him. But as it stands, Jeff settles for a dorky little wave. 

“Hi,” he says. 

Harry, who has still barely moved, carefully grabs one of Jeff’s hands, trying his best to not disturb the stillness of his body. 

Dr. Suntag finishes writing in the manila folder on the counter. She places her pen down and says, “So the transfer was successful. Everything is where it should be, as confirmed by the ultrasound. Now it’s just a bit of waiting and then we can do a blood test to see if things are progressing or not. Would you like to schedule that now or at a later date?”

“Now, please,” Harry says softly. Jeff just barely notices the movement of his ribcage as he takes the shallowest breaths possible. 

The doctor’s expression is a mix between sympathetic and unsure. Her smile—while sincere—doesn’t quite reach her eyes. She touches Harry’s forearm gently. “It won’t fall out. Don’t worry. It’s in there.”

Harry bites his bottom lip and nods. Gingerly, he slides off the table and stands on unsteady feet, flinging an arm out to grab the front of Jeff’s t-shirt in a death grip. 

“Easy,” Jeff whispers.

“I’ll let reception know that you’d like to make that appointment now, okay? And if you have questions or concerns, give us a call. See you soon.” Dr. Suntag gathers their file and papers, and after flashing them a final quick smile, she leaves the room and shuts the door behind her. 

Harry is very quiet as Jeff helps him into his clothes, holding open the waistband of his sweats to step into and guiding his arms into his top likes he’s dressing a child. When they’re done, Jeff smoothes over Harry’s chest, flattening imaginary wrinkles. 

“Ready to go?” Jeff asks.

Again, Harry only nods, blinking quickly and reaching for Jeff’s hand. His palm is cool and clammy, but Jeff holds it tightly. Without any fanfare, they set a date two weeks from today for the blood test that’s going to change their lives forever, one way or another. Two weeks to be anxious and worried. Two weeks that Jeff can already tell are going to be spent walking on eggshells. 

He gets Harry settled in the car and turns on a Top 40 station, hoping that some pop music might lighten the mood, or at the very least lull Harry into a bored sleep. But Harry stays awake for the entire ride and turns down Jeff’s offer to stop for food or coffee. Instead, Harry keeps both of his hands folded neatly in his lap and stares out the window, his forehead resting on the glass and his face totally blank. 

As soon as they step through the threshold of the front door, Harry makes a beeline for their bedroom. Jeff lets him go, figuring that he needs some alone time to regroup. 

With a sigh, Jeff turns on the stereo system in the living room and swaps out Fleetwood for Van Morrison in the CD player. The day isn’t even half over yet and he’s exhausted. It’s difficult to reconcile the nice weather and the way the sun is shining brightly outside with the way his chest feels like it’s caving in. 

They’re at the precipice of something, but Jeff doesn’t know what yet. And it’s scaring the shit out of him. 

He was so excited earlier when Dr. Suntag gave them the photograph of the embryo, but now Jeff is afraid to exist in his own home, like if he moves too quickly, it’ll upset the air and knock it right out of Harry’s body. Shouldn’t they both be happy right now? Shouldn’t they be thrilled about the small victories, that the procedure went exactly as planned? Perhaps it’s too early for excitement—they’re at the bottom of the hill and it’s still a long way before they get to the top.

He runs his fingers through his own hair and resists the urge to bite his nails, certain that he’d gnaw them down to the quick.

After five album tracks have finished and Harry still hasn’t emerged from down the hall, Jeff gets up from his reclined spot on the couch and heads to their bedroom. He doesn’t bother knocking.

He finds Harry under the covers. The blankets are piled high and tucked up over his head in a way that obscures him almost entirely, except for a tiny hint of brown hair near the headboard. 

“Harry? Do you want something for lunch?”

The lump under the blankets mumbles something unintelligible. Jeff perches on the edge of the bed and pats roughly where he thinks Harry’s hip might be. 

“Lunch?” Jeff repeats. 

A gust of wind hits Jeff in the face as Harry throws back the duvet, revealing his flushed face and red-rimmed eyes. 

“Jeff,” he croaks, before instantly dissolving into sobs. 

Jeff scrambles for a moment, hands hovering mid-air while he tries to decide if he should help Harry sit up or just touch him to try and be comforting. 

“Babe,” Jeff breathes. “What’s wrong?”

Harry practically launches himself at him, their chests meeting solidly, making Jeff grunt.

Into Jeff’s neck, Harry cries, “I—I need this to work. _ So bad_. Just—tell me. Tell me it’s gonna _ work_.”

Jeff fishmouths. He doesn’t...he can’t say that. 

He needs it, too. He wants them to have a baby together but he doesn’t know if he can watch Harry go through that again. He doesn’t know if _ he _ can deal with the loss of a baby again. 

“_Please_,” Harry whimpers. 

Jeff won’t deny him any longer. “Everything is gonna be fine,” he says softly, mouth pressed close to Harry’s ear. 

Harry cries harder. It makes Jeff’s heart lurch under his ribs, like someone is trying to blow it up like a balloon but there’s a pinhole in it, uselessly expanding and contracting. He closes his eyes together tightly and gathers Harry more closely. 

He won’t let himself cry—not right now, not here. He’ll save it for later when Harry can’t see him: not because he’s ashamed, but because Harry doesn’t need to be burdened with anyone else’s sadness. He doesn’t need to know that this is hurting Jeff, too. Harry needs him to be unflappable and solid. So that’s what he’s going to be. 

Jeff is surprised to feel Harry’s lips on his own. He opens his eyes and is met with the blurry sight of tear-streaked skin and bright green eyes. 

“Mmph,” Jeff mumbles as he pulls back. 

Harry shakes his head quickly, trying to urge Jeff close again, long fingers sliding through the back of Jeff’s hair. 

Jeff puts a hand between them to keep Harry at bay. Under his palm, he can feel Harry’s heart thumping wildly. 

“Harry…” Jeff says. 

“I know. Just—please.” Harry’s voice is thick and wet, tears still falling steadily down his cheeks. His nose is red and runny. 

When Jeff leans forward again to capture his mouth in a chaste kiss, Harry turns wild in his arms. Jeff can practically taste his desperation. Harry grasps and digs his fingers into anywhere he can reach—Jeff’s arms, his back, his shoulders—likely leaving half-crescent fingernail marks behind. Jeff doesn’t care. 

Harry’s tongue slides smoothly against his own. The air between them is neither one nor the other’s; they’re sharing oxygen, passing it back and forth with harsh panting and ragged breaths. They’re sharing this weight of anxiety and worry. It’s a tangible buzz that burns as it’s transferred in a hectic volley—but maybe that’s just the scrape of Harry’s teeth against Jeff’s bottom lip. 

It isn’t long before Harry starts to cry again, hard enough that they can’t continue. He can barely speak, so Jeff urges him not to try, pulling Harry down on the bed with him so they can lie together, Harry’s back against Jeff’s chest. 

“Shh,” Jeff whispers. He can barely hear himself over Harry’s sobs: awful, wretched noises that make him sound like a wounded animal. 

Jeff tugs the blankets over them both like a shield, worrying briefly that this much stress probably isn’t good for the embryo that was just painstakingly implanted. He forces himself not to think about it. 

Eventually Harry tires himself out, hiccuping softly in his exhausted sleep. Jeff presses the same hand from before over Harry’s heart. It’s beating much less erratically now. Jeff’s own heart feels ready to crumble. He stays awake for a long time. 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - October 2, 2018

The next day, they end up dancing around each other in a way they’re both unfamiliar with. This isn’t how they work. Or at least, it _ wasn’t _ how they worked until Jeff had whispered four little words all those months ago: _ Let’s have a baby_. And Harry, with the whole universe glinting in his eyes, had said _ Okay _ and smiled like he’d just won the lottery. 

At breakfast, Harry is evasive. When Jeff tries to touch him, he side-steps away or acts like it’s perfectly normal to busy himself with something and pretend that he doesn’t notice, sometimes shrugging Jeff off entirely. 

When Jeff woke up, Harry was already out of bed, his side of the blankets cold. He isn’t sure when Harry left, or if Harry even slept there at all. Because after Harry’s little crying tryst, they never really got out of bed for the rest of the day. Jeff briefly made them something to eat—a frozen spinach and feta pizza from the supermarket—but that was it. 

He thought they were fine. Or at least, he thought they were as fine as they could be considering the circumstances. Perhaps he did or said something to upset Harry. If only he could get Harry to be near him for more than twenty seconds at a time to ask him.

By noon, Jeff has had enough. He corners Harry in their bathroom while he’s at the sink washing his hands. 

“What are you doing?”

Harry has the decency to feign confusion. “Washing my hands?”

“No. That’s not—I’m not talking about that. You’re avoiding me.”

Harry turns his back to him to dry his hands off with a towel hanging over the shower curtain. “No I’m not.”

“_Yes_, you are. And I don’t want to fight about it. I just want you to _ talk to me_.” Jeff hates this. These conversations feel like trying to fill a tub without the drain plugged up: uselessly pouring yourself into it for nothing.

Spinning on his heel, Harry throws his hands up. “And say what? What do you want to hear? That I don’t know what the fuck I’m doing? And that I feel like if I _ move _the wrong way, I’m gonna fuck this up?”

“Harry—”

“That I think this whole thing is a farce and every time I look at you, I get so _ angry _with myself for dragging you through this?” Harry’s panting, his face red with exertion despite standing still. 

If the floor cracked open and the earth swallowed them whole right now, Jeff wouldn’t even flinch. All of the blood in his body is somewhere, but certainly not inside of him. He feels cold. Like a piece of tissue paper that could rip in a gentle breeze. 

This is it. This is what all of the other outbursts have been leading up to. It’s only been a matter of time.

“_Dragging me through this_? Is that what you think? That this is all your idea and I’m just unwillingly along for the ride? Are you _ fucking _serious right now?”

“I didn’t mean it like that and—”

“No, I think you did. I don’t know how else I was supposed to take it.” Jeff’s hands are curled into tight fists at his sides. His palms are stinging from where his nails are digging into them. He needs to walk. Or maybe do a few laps. _ Something _to let out all of his sudden energy. 

Perhaps Harry is forgetting that Jeff was the one who suggested they try for a baby to begin with, the _ very first _ time it was brought up. At his cousin’s wedding, he drunkenly and embarrassingly admitted that he wanted kids with Harry, when they’d only been seeing each other for a little over a year. Harry had patted him on the arm and told him to drink some water, but he didn’t brush it off entirely and wasn’t scared away. If anything, it brought them closer. Harry took it seriously, and here they are now.

“I _ didn’t _ mean it like that. Let me finish.” Harry holds both of his hands up. “I just...sometimes I feel bad. About how wrapped up I am in this whole thing. I never wanted—I don’t want our relationship—our _ bond _ to suffer—”

“It isn’t. _ I _ don’t think it is. _ Jesus_, Harry, do you?”

“_No_. I told you to let me _ finish_.”

Jeff shakes his head. “Fine. Talk.”

“I only meant that it’s felt...a bit one-sided lately. That I’m not doing my part to support _ you_. Every time I’m upset or something happens, you’re there to pick up the pieces and you don’t ask for _ anything_. I feel like shit. Like I’m...taking _ advantage _ of how good you are. And Jeff, I—” he swallows thickly, eyes suddenly wet. “I just have this weird feeling. About this. And I don’t know why and it’s scaring the fuck out of me.”

All of Jeff’s anger dissolves, the hourglass shattered, as Harry shrinks in on himself. He takes a step forward, only for Harry to take a step back, putting his hand between them, eyes down. 

“What?” Jeff asks quietly.

“I don’t know. It’s just this awful feeling and—”

“Are you hurt? Are you in pain? I can call the doctor, Harry, let me—”

“_No_. No, it’s not like that. It’s different. I promise it’s not any crunchy nonsense, but it’s this feeling in my _ chest_, like there’s this weight or something there. I just know that something bad is gonna happen and I _ hate it_.”

Jeff can’t bear the distance between them. He ignores Harry’s protests and holds his face in his hands. “Harry. Baby. Please, I need you to talk to me. I want to know, all right?”

Harry nods as a single tear makes its way down his cheek. Jeff swipes it away with his thumb. 

“We’ll keep an eye on it, okay? I believe you. I one-hundred percent believe you. There’s just nothing we can do right now. It’s too early.”

“I _ know_,” Harry says miserably. “It sucks, though. Not knowing.”

“You could be wrong. It could be nothing. Maybe we’ll look back on this and think about how silly we were, worrying over nothing.”

“Don’t. I can’t—I don’t wanna think about _ anything_. Good or bad.”

“Okay.” Jeff kisses Harry’s forehead, slightly damp with sweat. “That’s fine. You don’t have to. But what I do need you to do is not keep things like this from me. Please?”

Harry collapses forward, sobbing into Jeff’s chest. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” he keeps repeating, his voice ragged. 

Jeff rubs his back and tries to keep his own tears at bay. They’ve been walking on the blade edge of a sword for a while now, and it seems like they’ve finally reached the tip. 

“I love you. I’m so sorry, Jeff. I don’t mean to be like this.”

Yet again, Jeff finds it easier to deflect, to simply move on from these painful conversations. He hates seeing Harry upset, and focusing on trying to get him to feel even a fraction better allows Jeff to ignore the elephant in the room. It rolls off his tongue with little resistance as he says, “You’re like, maxed out on hormones, kid. I think you’re allowed to be a little overemotional.”

“Don’t be angry with me, please. I know you want this. I just wish I could give us a baby without this whole _ mess_.”

Jeff lets himself really feel the stab of pain in his chest at Harry’s words, wincing, but bearing it. “It’s okay, H. It might not feel like it is, and it’s unfair as fuck, but it’s okay. We’re both gonna be fine.”

Harry looks like he doesn’t quite believe him. Jeff isn’t sure if he totally believes _ himself_. It’s only been a year or so since they’ve started trying but it feels like a lifetime. 

“C’mon,” Jeff says. “I’m hungry. Are you hungry? I know we have bread and cheddar jack and I don’t know about you, but I think a grilled cheese can fix almost anything.”

The reality is that he just wants to get past this as quickly as possible. He wants to shy away from all of these circular conversations and reminders that things _ aren’t _ okay. 

Harry breathes deeply for a few moments, visibly collecting himself. 

“Don’t touch anything. Just let me wash my face and I’ll make them.”

“I can do it—”

“Let me. Please,” Harry says, eyes big and very serious, squeezing Jeff’s forearm. 

Jeff considers him for a moment. “Okay. Yeah. I’ll go find something for us to watch. Is that good?”

Harry kisses him with warm lips and a clammy hand on Jeff’s jaw. “Perfect. I love you very much. I’m sorry for yelling at you.”

“It’s over and done with. Moving on. All right?”

Harry sniffles a little. “Yeah.”

“I love you, too, by the way. But I’m starving so you need to get cracking.”

Harry jokingly shoves him out of the bathroom. “Five minutes. You can wait five minutes.”

Jeff is already halfway down the hall when he yells, “Four minutes, now. Hurry up!”

Jokes and banter won’t fix anything, but just for a moment, they act like a balm on a fresh wound. It’s better than nothing.

***

Los Angeles IVF Clinic - October 15, 2018

Every time they’re in the office, Jeff can’t help but feel like they’re reliving the same day over and over again, as they wait in the waiting room, get brought back to a private room, and wait some more. 

For this visit, Harry gets to keep his normal clothes on, but he’s still visibly nervous like he has been for all of the other appointments. Jeff is nervous, too—because Harry is sitting with a cotton ball taped to the inside of his elbow. Because he’s just had his blood drawn. Because they’re about to find out if he’s pregnant or not. 

Harry’s leg is bouncing. Jeff lets the clock hand counting the seconds make a full rotation before he places a hand on Harry’s thigh. 

“Relax.”

Harry looks at him sharply, face all hard angles. “How am I supposed to relax right now?”

“I know, but please try. You’re making me anxious.”

It’s true. He supposes it’s normal, considering everything. But Harry’s outward expressions of nervousness are only adding to the mounting nausea that Jeff can feel working its way upwards from his stomach. He’s started to sweat a bit, the back of his neck prickling. 

Harry’s mouth opens and closes, his eyes going from bright to soft. He grabs Jeff’s hand in one of his own. “I’m sorry, babe.”

There’s a knock on the door before Dr. Avery peeks her head around it. Jeff’s heart takes up residence somewhere in his throat.

Dr. Avery closes the door and sits down in the rolling chair opposite them. “So, boys,” she says with a smile, showing off her perfectly white and straight veneers. “I have some news for you.”

Harry’s grip is so tight around Jeff’s hand that he worries it might break. 

“I have your blood work results right here, and based on the HGC levels, you’re most definitely pregnant. Yay!” 

Harry lets out a whoosh of breath and starts to laugh. Jeff’s entire existence narrows to the space of this tiny room, equal parts crushing and comforting. 

Nothing is particularly funny right now. If anything, he’s even more afraid than when they were waiting. He thought that knowing would be better than being in the dark, but he was wrong. Now _ everything _is on the line. 

Harry is still laughing, short and choppy and clearly nervous, but Jeff can tell that he’s turning the corner to being hysterical. Dr. Avery’s bright smile fades a bit. 

“Isn’t that great news?”

Firmly and reassuringly, Jeff rubs Harry’s shoulder. “Yeah. Yeah, of course.”

Dr. Avery’s eyes narrow slightly. “I understand that this is only the beginning, and it comes with a unique set of challenges, given your history,” she says gently. “But we’re going to keep up a proactive medical regimen and add a few things to hopefully keep things moving. Now,” she continues, addressing mostly Harry, “This means no more injections, but you should continue with the progesterone supplements. And I’m going to prescribe you some super prenatals. We’ll schedule an appointment for two weeks from now to see how things are going. And _ try _not to stress too much—I know it’s hard and very scary, but you need to keep yourself healthy. Okay?” 

Harry’s bottom lip is in between his teeth; it’s restored from white to its usual pink as he releases it to nod and say, “Okay.” 

Later, in the car, Harry turns to Jeff after a long stretch of silently looking out the window. 

“Are you happy?” he asks. He has a hand pressed to his still-flat lower belly. He’s had it there since they left the clinic.

Jeff’s hands tighten around the steering wheel. “Yeah. Of course. Why wouldn’t I be?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff catches Harry’s troubled expression: brows knitted together, lips forming a subtle frown. 

“I feel like I should be happier,” he nearly whispers. “Isn’t that awful?”

Pressing on the brake to stop at a red light, Jeff looks at Harry full-on. He hesitates. This is Harry talking to him, just like he asked him to. No more pressure cooker blow-ups.

“No...I get it. Uhm. Are you at least a little happy, though?”

Harry avoids Jeff’s eyes. He simply breathes for a few moments, visibly collecting his thoughts. “I don’t know,” he finally says. “I can’t tell if what I’m feeling is happy or scared.”

It’s a relief, almost, to hear him give voice to what Jeff is similarly experiencing. “Me too,” Jeff admits. “But I think they’re just gonna be connected here. Isn’t it like that for everyone? I don’t think anyone has ever been pregnant and not scared shitless.”

The light changes to green and Jeff turns his attention back to the road. 

“Maybe,” Harry says, sounding far away again. 

Jeff has work the next day. As he’s leaving in the morning, he pretends like he isn’t worried about leaving Harry alone in the house. Not that he thinks he’d do anything, but he can’t help but wonder. 

Harry is still asleep when Jeff is almost fully dressed, just needing to put on his shoes and grab his bag. 

He stands by their bed longer than is strictly necessary, watching like a hawk to track the minute movements as Harry sleeps and breathes. The tiny muscles in his face twitch almost imperceptibly. Jeff wonders what he’s dreaming about, if anything at all. Hopefully good things. He has nightmares every now and again, but as far as Jeff knows, he hasn’t had one in a while—or at least not one severe enough to wake Jeff too. 

Jeff is going to be late if he doesn’t leave soon. So he bends down and kisses the top of Harry’s head, stroking over his wrist where it’s escaped from the covers, and pre-plans to text him when he gets to the office. To check in. That’s all. Not to be overbearing and crazy. Just to check in.

***

967 Briggs Road - Stanton - October 29, 2018

It seems like all parents’ houses smell the same. Some kind of weird phenomena must mandate staple scents once your kids move out. 

Harry’s mom is a big fan of candles, and every time they’ve come over to visit as long as Jeff can remember, she’s had at least three burning at one time. Today she’s lit Macintosh, French Vanilla, and something else rich and almost earthy, but there’s no label so he can’t tell what exactly it is. 

Despite her affinity for candles, her ceilings don’t show any of the telltale black marks that made Harry convert to candle warmers for their own house. 

As soon as Jeff walks past the threshold, it’s like he’s being wrapped in a warm blanket: the same feeling he gets whenever he goes to see his own parents. 

Harry is visibly more relaxed here, curled up into the corner of the couch in the living room, idly watching cartoons. Anne is in the kitchen, after shooing both of them away despite their offers to help with lunch. 

Jeff reaches across the space between them to touch Harry’s socked ankle. 

“Do you still want to tell her?” he whispers.

Harry lifts his head from the couch cushion. “Hm?”

“Your mom. Do you still want to tell your mom?”

Shifting in his spot, Harry scratches his jaw and shrugs. “I mean. Yeah. Is that okay?”

“It’s up to you, kid. I don’t mind.”

Anne already knows that they were considering trying IVF, but Harry mentioned it so casually that Jeff isn’t sure how serious she took it. After trying so many times with no luck, and then with the miscarriage, Harry had said a lot of things. About wanting to adopt. About not even wanting kids in the first place, that the whole thing was stupid and they were just fine on their own. That he isn’t going to be another omega baby factory. Everyone got used to agreeing with him to keep him from jumping off the deep end. 

She has no idea that they’ve actually started treatments, so there’s no way she could have any inkling as to what’s going on. 

Jeff should have factored in her mother’s intuition. 

As soon as they sit down at the table for homemade chicken noodle soup and freshly toasted rolls, Anne looks between the two of them and smiles thinly. 

“Now, not that I don’t love that you boys have decided to stop by, but I can’t help but wonder what might be the reason.”

Harry slurps loudly from his spoon. “What? I need a reason to visit now? I can’t just want to see my lovely mother?”

Anne’s face transforms into the same look of unamusement that Harry wears whenever Jeff does or says something dumb. 

“I didn’t say that. But I think I know my son well enough that I can tell you’re full of shit.”

Jeff snorts and tries to cover it up by stuffing his mouth full of buttery bread. 

“_Mom_.”

“What? Am I wrong?”

Harry looks at Jeff pleadingly. “I—well.”

Jeff swallows. He can feel the color drain from his face, like he’s back in school and being called on when he doesn’t know the answer. Except he does know the answer. Somehow, it doesn’t make the words any easier to say. 

“_Oh_. Uh. I know it was only mentioned in passing. But, uhm. We decided to go through with the whole IVF thing.”

Calmly, Anne puts her spoon down on the table. “Oh. Are you both...okay? Healthy? Harry, sweetheart, why didn’t you tell me sooner? You must be on all sorts of things for that. Do you feel all right?” 

“Yeah, I’m fine. All good,” Harry says with pink cheeks.

She pushes her chair back and rounds the table to pull Harry into a hug. “Seriously, are you okay? Don’t lie to me.”

Harry’s voice is muffled by Anne’s shoulder. “I’m really fine. Actually, we uhm. Have something else to tell you.”

She steps back, holding him at arms’ length, her eyes wide and hopeful. “What? Are you…?”

Harry gives her a small half-smile. “Pregnant, yeah. Only four weeks along, though. Just went to a check-up yesterday.”

“Oh my goodness. _ Oh my goodness_.” Anne grabs Harry’s face and kisses him repeatedly on the top of his head before turning her attention to Jeff, giving him the same treatment. 

All three of them are laughing, and then Anne puts her hand over her heart. “Oh. I’m so happy for you. This is just—_lovely_.” Her laughter turns wet as she starts to cry. Happy tears, Jeff is almost certain. 

“Mom, don’t _ cry_.” Jeff can hear it in Harry’s voice that he’s close to tears as well. 

“I can’t help it,” Anne says, wiping her eyes. 

Jeff feels like he holds himself back enough: whether it’s for Harry’s sake or his own, he doesn’t know. But he allows himself this—a happy moment where he doesn’t try to stop it when his own eyes start to sting, letting things flow freely. 

It’s nice, in its own way. Much better than the thick, heavy crying he’s historically tried to keep at bay when things have gone south, like after their fourth negative pregnancy test, when Jeff truly questioned if it was really worth it. Or after losing their first baby, that wasn’t even really a baby yet, and Harry had looked like he wasn’t tethered to the Earth anymore. 

They barely spoke that day, even as Jeff led Harry to their bedroom, helped him get undressed and changed into his most comfortable, wash-worn sweatpants, and tucked him under the covers. Harry didn’t move for three more days. He barely ate or drank, barely said a word, never so much as got up to shower. And Jeff had no idea what to do except break down, alone, in the middle of the night or on his way to work so that Harry wouldn’t see him so upset. 

Those have been some of their worst moments, but this is so very different. Jeff hasn’t quite married himself to the idea that this might really work, and he can tell that Harry is hesitant, too. It’s just that Anne’s excitement is infectious, and it would be hard fought to try and stay glum when she’s laughing and crying and hugging them both. 

She holds onto Harry for a long time, whispering things to him that Jeff can’t quite make out, rubbing his back and stroking the short curls at the back of his head. Jeff doesn’t try to eavesdrop—it’s not his place. So he sits at the table and finishes his soup before it goes completely cold. 

Harry excuses himself to use the bathroom and then Anne lowers her voice to say to Jeff, “I know that he was likely the one to talk you into this, but I’m worried about him. He won’t lie to me, but he tries. And I also know that he’s acting braver than he really is.” 

Jeff is speechless for a second, fishmouthing while he fiddles with a napkin. “He—he really wants this.” At Anne’s raised eyebrows he rushes to continue. “_We both do_. We both want it. But—excuse me for this—he’s scaring the shit out of me.” 

Anne nods like she understands perfectly. She pats Jeff’s forearm. “You two are good for each other.”

As Harry walks back into the room, they try to act as natural as possible, but Harry’s watery smile goes a bit flat. He doesn’t say anything, though. He just sits down and tears off a piece of bread to dunk in his leftover broth. 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - December 1, 2018

Harry comes home from work a little after seven in the morning. He shuffles around as quietly as possible, but even at the best of times, he’s still like a bull in a china shop. 

Jeff buries his face in his pillow and tries to fall back asleep, as he doesn’t need to be up for another hour or so, but it’s to no avail. 

While Harry is in the bathroom, Jeff pinballs his way down the hallway and into the kitchen, where he flicks the stove burner on to boil some water. The sun is starting to creep up over the horizon, so he doesn’t need to turn on any lights, sleepily rubbing the crusties out of his eyes and blinking away any lingering early-morning blurriness. 

Once the kettle is whistling, he turns off the heat and empties two packets of oatmeal into a bowl, stirring in the steaming water until it’s not too thick or too runny. He pours two glasses of juice, one for Harry and one for himself, and just as he’s pulling the box of Cheerios out of the cabinet, Harry comes up behind him. 

“Hey. Sorry if I woke you up.”

Jeff kisses him before he remembers his own morning breath. Harry’s is minty fresh, but he doesn’t protest. “It’s okay,” Jeff says. “I was gonna get up anyway. And I made you breakfast.”

Harry wraps his arms around Jeff’s waist, clasping his hands together over his lower back. “What would I do without you, Jeffrey?”

“You’d starve. And you would never have any toilet paper because you always forget to buy it.”

Up close like this, Jeff can see where Harry missed a few spots of face wash near his hairline when he rinsed, bits of white foam clinging to the baby hairs of his subtle widow’s peak. 

“Tissues, though. They’re practically the same thing.”

Jeff groans. “No, they are _ not_. They’re—”

“I know, I know. I wouldn’t _ actually_. They don’t break down right in the water.”

“You worry me.”

“But you still like me. You _ loveeee _ me.”

“Yeah, against my better judgement. Now go eat.” Jeff pats him on the butt twice and pulls out of his embrace to grab the milk. 

With his over-sized bowl of cereal ready, Jeff sits at the table opposite Harry, who is gingerly taking small bites of his own oatmeal. 

Through a mouthful of Cheerios, Jeff asks, “What? Is it the wrong kind?” He’s sure the package said apples and cinnamon. 

Harry shakes his head. “No, it’s fine. My stomach just feels funny all of a sudden.” 

In what seems like an instant, Harry’s face turns pinched, skin as white as a sheet. His chair scrapes loudly against the tile floor as he shoves back and runs down the hall, clutching a hand over his mouth. 

Jeff’s spoon clatters on the wooden table top as he drops it, quickly following Harry. 

“Babe?” He pokes his head into the bathroom, finding Harry already on his knees with his head over the toilet bowl. 

Harry retches for a few seconds and it echoes loudly against the porcelain before Jeff hears the telltale sounds of actual vomit. He kneels on the ground next to Harry and speaks in a soft, calm voice. “There you go. Easy—Breathe. You’ll feel better when you’re done.”

Jeff has had partners in the past who have been embarrassed about puking, after a night out and one-too-many drinks, or even because of a virus of some kind. They made sure that Jeff stayed away and didn’t try to help. Harry has never been like that; he’s always easy for some attention and enjoys being cared for. Jeff is happy to provide that. 

He keeps Harry’s hair off his forehead for him, even though it’s short enough that it’s not in danger of getting in his mouth like it used to be a few years back. 

Harry cycles through heaving and coughing before actually getting anything up, spitting miserably into the toilet and sounding rather pitiful. There’s a span of about thirty seconds where neither of them move, and Jeff jinxes it by asking, “All done?” only to have Harry start up a new round of horrible gagging.

By the time he’s actually done, Harry has sweated through his gray t-shirt, dark damp patches staining his underarms, around his collar, and all down his back. His eyes are wet when he lifts his head from the toilet bowl to clumsily flush it, using the back of his hand to wipe his own mouth. 

“You okay?” Jeff asks nervously. His hands are shaking a bit, so he closes them into loose fists.

Harry’s lower lip, which has a tiny spot of a mixture of what is likely spit and puke on it, starts to wobble. “Yeah,” he croaks.

Jeff can’t help the small smile that creeps onto his face, shoulders dropping in relief. He feels bad—he really does—but Harry is ridiculous sometimes. “You sure?”

“‘M good. Just, you know. Morning sickness.” He shrugs with a wary smile of his own.

It’s his first real bout of it this time around. He’s mentioned feeling queasy a few times in the past week or so, but nothing has come to fruition until now. The last time he was pregnant, he never got far along enough to experience this particular symptom at all. 

A match strike of hope lights up in Jeff’s chest. “All for a good cause, then?” he tries. 

Nodding, Harry agrees. 

Jeff wets a facecloth and grabs Harry a fresh shirt before checking the time. He’s not in any real danger of being late for work, but he still jumps in the shower anyway.

Under the spray, Jeff is able to luxuriate in a few moments to himself. He takes his time lathering up his shampoo, rinsing it out carefully before slathering on some conditioner. Stealing some of Harry’s face scrub, he exfoliates, leaving his skin feeling smooth and tingly. By the time he’s finished, he feels significantly more awake, even though the earlier excitement was enough to send him spinning. 

His cheerios are bloated and soggy when he returns to the kitchen, so he dumps them down the sink and grabs an apple and a granola bar for the ride. 

Harry meets him by the front door while Jeff slips on his shoes. His coloring looks better, face tinged pink, and he seems less shaky now. He slides his hands over Jeff’s chest, smoothing over his black jacket. 

“Very handsome,” Harry says.

Jeff feigns surprise, making his eyes exaggeratedly wide. “I’m sorry, but I’m seeing someone.”

“Oh, are you?”

“Yup. The ‘ole ball and chain.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “Charming.”

“Very. And as cute as you are, between you and me,” Jeff pauses, leaning close to Harry’s ear to whisper, “I actually have to leave for work.”

It doesn’t make much sense and falls a bit flat. It’s just that he stopped himself from saying what he really wanted to. Because what he wanted to say is _ My partner and I actually have a baby on the way_, but he’s not sure if that would be pushing it. It’s like an unspoken daily allowance, how much they’re allowed to talk about the tiny speck in Harry’s abdomen. He thinks that maybe Harry directly mentioning his morning sickness was their one ticked box for the day. 

Harry cups Jeff’s jaw and brings their mouths together for a short, sweet kiss. He’s brushed his teeth again, and his lips are once more minty and cool against Jeff’s. 

“Have a good day at work.”

“I’ll try. Text me if you need anything.” Jeff leans in for one last kiss before grabbing his car keys and closing the front door behind him. 

He idles in the driveway for a few seconds, staring at a spot of brown grass in their front yard. His phone buzzing in his pocket snaps him out of it; it’s a simple weather alert to let him know that it’s going to rain later. He sets his ringer to a medium volume, just in case, and puts the car into reverse to back out onto the street.

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - December 4, 2018

Jeff’s name is being called. It sounds like it’s coming from a distance, hazy and quiet. The person is yelling, though. Jeff can tell that much. 

He’s sitting at a school desk, looking around the otherwise empty classroom, and there’s this heaviness in his gut. Because he showed up to class and somehow forgot to write a paper that was due. 

He doesn’t know where the voice is coming from. There’s no teacher and the classroom door is closed. He’s frozen in his seat, staring ahead at the blank blackboard.

His name is still being called, louder and more urgently. He rolls over, in his bed, because that’s where he’s sleeping. But as the dream fades and he becomes aware of his actual surroundings, his name is still being called. 

Harry’s voice is muffled by the bathroom door, but it’s perfectly clear when he shouts, “Jeff? Jeff, please.”

The headrush Jeff gets from sitting up so fast makes him woozy, but not woozy enough to miss the sheets next to him, the covers thrown off to reveal a patch of bright red on Harry’s vacant side. Harry’s bedside lamp is on. 

On autopilot, he scrambles out of bed and lurches over to the bathroom, his footfalls loud and heavy. He grasps the doorknob and tries to turn it, but finds it locked from the inside. He can hear Harry crying. The metal clangs as he wiggles the handle. 

“Harry. Baby. Open the door.” Jeff’s flat palm makes solid contact with the wood, the inside of his ears vibrating from the volume of it.

“Jeff…” 

“_Harry_. Open the door, please.” He’s trying to be as calm as possible, but he’s ready to jump out of his own skin.

What feels like hours pass before the lock clicks and the door is opened a crack. Jeff pushes it open all the way and finds Harry on the floor, leaning against the wall with his knees tucked under himself. 

Jeff drops to the ground and sits on his own heels, running his hands over Harry’s face and shoulders, anywhere and everywhere he can. “What’s wrong?” he asks, even though he already knows. 

“Jeff...I’m sorry,” Harry says miserably, eyes scrunched shut. His face is damp, nose red. “I’m so _ sorry_. I—” 

“C’mon. We’re going to the hospital. Harry, please. Let’s go.” Harry’s all dead weight, refusing to cooperate. 

“Why?” Harry asks, tucking his knees up closer to his chest.

Jeff gets a good grip under Harry’s armpits and lifts with his legs. Groaning with exertion, he bites out, “Don’t be difficult. _ Up_.” 

He finally gets Harry to stand, keeping an arm around his waist to help him stay balanced. They manage to navigate over to their dresser, where Jeff flicks the rest of the lights on, his eyes momentarily aching at the change in brightness. It makes everything feel more real, stark in its harshness.

The seat of Harry’s boxers are damp and red. Jeff looks away quickly, using one hand to dig through drawers to find Harry a new pair and some other clothes to put on.

He ignores the way Harry is shaking when he hands him a shirt and a pair of pants. “C’mon. You need to get dressed.” 

Harry acts like a child being guided into getting ready for school, silently and without protest, no longer crying. On coltish legs, he slides his soiled underwear down his thighs and kicks them off, only pausing to grab onto the dresser once. Jeff immediately picks them up and deposits them in the trash bin. 

Satisfied that Harry can finish dressing himself, Jeff throws on a pair of gym shorts and a sweatshirt, stopping in the bathroom to grab a towel.

By the time Jeff has gathered his wallet and keys and put on a pair of sneakers, Harry is just emerging from the bedroom.

More gently this time, Jeff urges, “Come on. We’re gonna go to the hospital and see what’s going on, okay?”

Harry nods, his eyes glassy and distant. “Okay,” he mumbles.

Jeff nearly forgets to lock the front door in his haste to get Harry in the car, but after setting the towel down on Harry’s seat and making sure they’re both buckled, he’s speeding down the back roads to get on the highway. 

Neither of them speak. The radio stays off. Jeff just tightens his hands around the steering wheel every time Harry shifts and tries and fails to hide a wince or groan of discomfort. He keeps his eyes forward as much as he can, but he can still see how pale Harry is and the way his lips are trembling.

It’s not a particularly long drive, but by the time they arrive, Jeff’s jaw feels like it’s going to be permanently clenched, his back molars sore from the pressure of his bite. 

For a little after three in the morning on a Tuesday, the emergency room is fairly busy. Jeff approaches the front desk receptionist while Harry sits in a seat that’s the farthest away from the other waiting guests, tucked in the corner.

“Hi. My, uhm. Boyfriend—partner. Is pregnant. But he’s bleeding and I think he’s having cramps and this might be his second miscarriage and—”

The woman behind the desk stops him with a gentle but disarming raised hand. “Here. One of you needs to fill out these forms and someone will be out to see you shortly. Does he have his insurance card on him? Or do you know any of the information?”

Jeff blinks quickly. “I don’t—I don’t think he has his wallet with him.”

She hands him a pen and a clipboard along with the paperwork. “Ask him if he knows it. Just fill those out.”

Jeff drops into the seat next to Harry with a huff. “Do you have your insurance card?”

Harry appears to be staring at a spot on the linoleum, hands gripping the wooden arm rests of his own chair, tendons sticking out in sharp relief under his skin. “It’s at home,” he says mildly.

Jeff doesn’t pause the movement of his pen as he unthinkingly writes out Harry’s information. Harry’s insurance details are the only things he can never seem to remember. “Do you know the stuff for it?”

“Yeah.”

“Can you go tell the woman at the desk, please?”

Harry stands up without another word. When he returns to his seat, Jeff is on the last page of intake sheets. 

“We should call Dr. Avery,” Jeff says.

Harry shrugs. “She’s probably asleep.”

“We’ll leave her a voicemail, then. But we need to call her.”

Harry doesn’t respond. He just picks at the skin around his pointer finger with his thumbnail. Frustration bubbles up in Jeff like a soda can that’s had a good shake and is finally being opened.

“Harry, I’m being serious.”

It takes all of Jeff’s willpower to not reach out and try to swipe a hand straight through Harry. He just looks so far away—Jeff is certain that he’d be met with empty air, like the person sitting next to him is actually a hologram. A mirage. 

Anger folding in on itself feels an awful lot like the start of a black hole, heavy and crushing. It’s under his ribs and trying to seep out through the cracks, this all-consuming tension that’s threatening to explode. He’s upset with himself for being upset with Harry, who’s clearly hurting in more ways than one. 

But he needs Harry to be here with him, to be present. Jeff can’t always deal with these things on his own. Because he’s hurting now, too. Just thinking about their bloodied bed back at the house makes him want to stick his head between his knees and puke right here. 

Thankfully, though, someone calls their name to collect them and lead them to a private room. Harry gets his preliminary checks done; a nurse listens to his heartbeat and takes his blood pressure. He’s surprisingly cooperative in an almost frighteningly docile way. It’s a stark departure from his usual tactics when he’s the patient instead of the nurse; on a good day, he subtly tries to micromanage, unable to turn his own medical knowledge off, and is rather difficult as a result. But right now, he’s quiet and dutiful, answering the questions he’s asked. 

A doctor comes in shortly after and confirms what they essentially already knew. 

Harry’s face is ashen but inscrutable, nodding as the doctor offers her apologies. There’s no sign of an imminent breakdown like the last time they had these almost exact words recited to them. 

Jeff stares at the sterile blue wall opposite him. His eyes are itchy, lids drooping. He’s tired. So _ tired_. And not just from being woken up in the middle of the night. Everything is catching up with him. Finally. It’s months worth of ignoring all of the signs his body has been giving him that he’s running out of steam, both physically and mentally. 

Harry’s surprisingly strong voice makes Jeff jump. 

“What can I do?” Harry asks. 

The doctor looks confused, brows furrowing. “Well, we might need to do some preventative blood work, and we can schedule a D and C—” Harry cuts her off. 

“No,” he shakes his head vehemently. “No, I don’t want that again.” 

“Okay,” the doctor assures in a measured voice. “You can let it pass naturally at home, if you’d prefer. There are just some things that you’ll need to know if you want to do that. We can give you the paperwork that outlines everything.” 

Harry squeezes the flesh of his own thighs in rhythmic pulses. “Thank you,” he says.

Jeff couldn’t speak if he wanted to. Frankly, he’s horrified by the idea of having to deal with this any further. At least with the last miscarriage, they took care of everything right then and there, where Harry was brought back and administered a local anesthetic while they cleared him of any lingering tissue that might cause an infection. But now this just feels like dragging it out unnecessarily. The sanctuary of their home has already been tarnished. Jeff wants to know how long it will be this time before he can stand to be in their bedroom without being reminded of sheets that harbor the evidence of everything they’ve worked towards slipping through their fingers like sand.

Harry is stubborn. It’s clear that he’s made up his mind about this; Jeff’s protests would be futile. So he keeps his lips pressed firmly together and nods politely when necessary, only half-listening to Harry and the doctor.

They return home in the wee hours of the morning as the sun is just starting to come up. Jeff bumps into Harry in the doorway of their bedroom, because Harry has stopped dead in his tracks. He won’t meet Jeff’s eyes as he turns around and brushes past him, slinking down the hallway like a ghost.

“Throw them out, please,” he says loudly enough for Jeff to hear. 

Jeff braces both of his hands on the doorframe and drops his head between his shoulders, taking deep, careful breaths. 

He’s never been one for violent outbursts, but he thinks it would bring him great satisfaction right now to punch a hole in the wall. 

Frustrated doesn’t even begin to cover it. He doesn’t want to strip their bed and get rid of the sheets. He doesn’t want to take them out to the trash. He doesn’t want to deal with _ anything_, just for a few minutes. 

There’s this ache that’s penetrated every crack and crevice of his body, this bone-deep longing for a time long since passed, when if he was over a friend’s house, he could call his dad and he’d come and pick him up. When he was reliant on other people and nothing was expected of him. 

He wants to be a child again. 

He sinks to the floor with a thud and wraps his arms around his knees before he unravels entirely. 

A tiny voice in the back of his mind is saying, _ In two-three, out two-three_, on a melodic loop. Jeff can’t remember exactly what it’s from—probably one of the at-home yoga videos that Harry likes to watch on his laptop every couple of months when he can be bothered to dig out his mat and rearrange the living room. 

It takes most of Jeff’s focus, but he tries to follow along with the distant instructions, filling his lungs for three beats and releasing for three beats. Maybe he’s doing it wrong, because after a few cycles, his skull feels light like a helium balloon. 

He’s significantly more calm, though, and definitely less likely to do any drywall damage. His neck is stiff from being bent between his shoulders. It strains as he lifts it. 

The sheets are still there, on the bed. They haven’t been magicked away. Because this is real life and things don’t work like that. 

Jeff stands at the foot of the bed with his arms folded across his chest for a long time. He’s stuck, every single one of his muscles protesting as he thinks and tries to will himself to just _ do it _ already. 

Maybe they could just blockade their bedroom and never go in it ever again. They’d buy all new furniture to put in the spare room. Anyone who comes over would just be told to stay away from the door at the end of the hall. 

“What’s in there?” they might ask.

“Oh, nothing,” Jeff would say. “Nothing at all.”

There are sirens blaring in his head when he finally forces himself to move. Methodically, he throws all of their pillows off to the side and peels back their duvet. The top sheet has managed to make it out unscathed, but Jeff tosses it on the floor anyway. Starting at the top left corner, Jeff works clockwise to untuck the fitted sheet completely, crumpling it up without care and immediately ignoring it when he touches something damp. 

He wraps it all up in the top sheet and speed walks to the kitchen for a plastic bag where he shoves the bundle in and ties it closed. 

It’s with a sense of finality that Jeff deposits the bag into the trash bin at the end of the driveway. He forgot to put on shoes, and little rocks and bits of sand press uncomfortably against the soles of his feet. 

Thankfully no neighbors are awake yet—there’s no one outside to try for a friendly wave with no idea as to what’s going on at their house. There are no prying eyes to wonder what he’s throwing away. 

Jeff had walked past a lump of unmoving blankets on the couch on his way out, which he assumed correctly to be Harry. 

He wants to tell him that it’s all taken care of. _ Don't worry, I handled things. Again_. But he can’t bring himself to disturb him. Instead, he sits next to where he thinks Harry’s feet might be and doesn’t say a word. 

If Harry’s awake, he shows no signs of it. Jeff is only certain that he’s alive because of the slight rise and fall of fabric as he breathes. 

The remote is sitting on the coffee table in front of him. It wouldn’t take any effort to reach forward and grab it. But then, what would he even put on? 

The room is so quiet that it’s loud, in a way. Buzzing with static and stagnant air. On the cable box’s digital display, the time reads 7:48AM. It doesn't feel right that so much has happened in such a short span of time. Surely these types of things should take longer. But perhaps it’s better this way. 

Jeff remembers suddenly that this isn’t quite over yet. That Harry is still physically carrying their loss. It makes sense that he’s sleeping, or at the very least, resting; Jeff truly can’t fault him for that. 

He wishes he could sleep himself, but he fears that it’s going to evade him. Despite his overwhelming exhaustion, he’s wired. It’s as though he’s painfully aware of each individual cell in his body, fizzing and bubbling under his skin. He wants to be at his parents’ house, in the pool out back, so he can submerge himself fully, just to get away for a bit. He can almost hear it: the muffled sounds of being underwater, like you have putty in your ears. The clenching of your lungs when you sink too deep. Opening your eyes and facing the sting of chlorine, watching light filter through a kaleidoscope of gentle waves. 

He should take a shower. Brush his teeth. Wash his hands, maybe. Definitely change his clothes. Just for something simple to do. But he can’t bring himself to do any of those things. What he does instead is grab a blanket from inside the storage ottoman by the couch, as well as a throw pillow from where Harry must have put them on the floor earlier. He makes a little bed for himself on the recliner. It’s probably gonna fuck up his back, but he’ll let Harry have his leg room. 

Sleep overtakes him eventually, even with daylight streaming in through the front window. He wakes with the sun in his eyes, squinting as he cracks them open. It’s only been an hour. 

Harry still hasn’t moved. Well, hasn’t moved much. Now his face is a bit more visible, even if it’s just his forehead, brows furrowed even as he sleeps. 

Jeff gets up in search of food even though he isn’t particularly hungry. Watching the cup of instant macaroni and cheese spin around inside the microwave proves to be a riveting if not short-lived experience. Mechanically, he forks bits of it into his mouth, perhaps too hot for eating so soon after finishing cooking, but he doesn’t care. He doesn’t register the heat on his tongue or the taste of the food. He just swallows and finishes it as quickly as he can manage. 

The rest of the day is spent in a fog. Harry stays on the couch, under his blanket shield and tucked away from the world. Jeff doesn't bother him beyond asking him twice if he would like some water or something to eat, only to be met with a grunt of indifference. 

Seconds, minutes, hours roll by like a fast-moving storm, relentless and unforgiving. 

Nighttime engulfs the house in the blink of an eye. Jeff sits at the kitchen table with the lights off for a bit, until the sun has gone down completely and the digital clock display on the stove is the only visible light that isn’t filtering in from outside. 

He takes up his spot on the recliner again; Harry’s back is to him now, blanket around his shoulders from what Jeff can see.

“Goodnight,” Jeff says.

Harry doesn’t answer him, asleep or not.

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - December 6, 2018

There’s nothing poetic about it when it happens, two days later. 

Jeff gets sent home early from work at the urgence of his manager, despite his protests that he’s fine. He’s been doing his work. He pulled himself together the day prior as well. But apparently he’s been acting _ off_.

It’s been a waiting game that Jeff has tried his hardest to ignore. Until now, when Harry makes a small noise of pain from his spot on the couch (seemingly his new domain) and Jeff nearly breaks his neck to see what’s the matter. It becomes clear what’s happening right away.

Since they returned home from the ER with a script for Vicodin and advice to pick up sanitary pads, Harry has been sweating through multiple t-shirts a day while he stays curled up on the couch. He’s been very stoic about his pain, has barely spoken at all, and has refused to take any painkillers. 

He doesn’t say anything now, either. He simply shuts himself in the bathroom for a handful of minutes before returning to the living room with a sheepish expression on his face. Jeff doesn’t ask any questions, but he assumes it was likely just a false alarm and lets him be. 

Harry keeps shifting around, clearly uncomfortable, and finally breaks his unofficial vow of silence. His voice cracks but they both ignore it. “I think I want one of those pills now.”

Jeff swallows. “Is it bad? The pain?” They were told to expect this. That things are going to get worse before they can get better. He still feels wildly underprepared. 

Harry bites down on a whimper as he nods vigorously. 

After fumbling with the safety cap, Jeff manages to shake out one of the white pills into his palm. He passes it to Harry, who already has a glass of water on the table, and watches as he quickly pops it into his mouth and washes it down. 

It’s a stupid question but Jeff can’t help but ask, “Are you okay?”

Harry must be beyond speech. He shakes his head this time, his whole body trembling. His eyes are surprisingly clear, though. Bright with how bad he’s hurting, but no tears in sight. 

“My back,” he mumbles and gestures vaguely, his face scrunching up. 

Jeff hovers for a moment. “What do you need me to do?”

Harry sucks in air through his teeth. His breaths are coming more rapidly as he hunches over. “_God_, I dunno,” he says miserably. “Hurts.”

It’s selfish, but Jeff is thankful to be hearing his voice again. He wishes it were under literally any other circumstances, but he’s thankful. 

“Do you wanna try to lay back down?” Jeff tries. 

Harry grabs his wrist in a death grip and uses him for support as he gets into the position he wants: kneeling on the couch and braced against the back of it, facing away from Jeff. 

It’s all the instruction Jeff needs to press his fingers into Harry’s lower back, not bothering to be gentle or cautious, going right in for firm circles. Instincts take over and he doesn’t have to think. All he has to do is concentrate on the sound of Harry’s breathing, his hands taking cues from Harry’s reactions and quickly deciphering what he seems to like and what he doesn’t. Anything to help alleviate even a fraction of his pain. 

They stay like that until Harry needs to move again, this time settling lengthwise on his side and urging Jeff to lay beside him and hold him close. Jeff nuzzles his face into the space between Harry’s neck and shoulder. He weathers all of his spasms and twitches and uses his palm over Harry’s lower belly to try and wick away the turmoil that’s taking place under the surface by sheer will alone. 

The stapled stack of papers that the ER doctor gave them didn’t mention any of this. It was all so clinical, outlining the process like a sanitized high school sex ed book. _ The body will experience a similar process like that of delivering a full-term newborn. In women, the fetus will be expelled from the cervix. In men, the fetus will be expelled from the ventral canalis. Some people experience sharp pains and cramps, while others experience more mild symptoms like that of menstruation or prior to a heat cycle. _

Jeff knew all this all on a technical level before the doctor described it—knew that the small, closed-up slit he sometimes caught glimpses of between Harry's legs could open up into a proper birth canal. It was just one more difference between his and Jeff's biology. 

But their differences aren’t what matter right now. Everything that Harry is feeling, Jeff wants to feel too. He forces himself to soak up as much of it as he can, like an imaginary transfer, until he’s shaking under the weight of it. 

His calm breathing techniques have no place here. He only holds himself back in an effort to keep Harry as relaxed and worry-free as possible. So he mostly keeps himself in check, trying to inhale and exhale through his nose quietly while his lungs feel like they want to close entirely. 

It’s when Harry goes completely still that Jeff thinks,_ Is it over _? But then Harry is extricating himself from Jeff’s hold and walking as quickly as he can to the bathroom again. 

Jeff waits before following. He doesn’t know how much time passes. It might as well be months before he hears his first sign of life from the other side of the door. 

It’s the worst kind of deja vu Jeff has ever experienced, listening to Harry cry through a barrier of wood. His fist hovers, poised to knock, but he stays frozen, vocal cords locked tight. 

But he remembers that Harry reached out for him today. That he wants Jeff to comfort him. So he doesn’t hesitate to grab the door handle, and it feels like a weight has been lifted momentarily off his shoulders when he finds it unlocked, unlike before. 

It’s both familiar and unfamiliar seeing Harry crouched on the floor. Except this time there’s no blood anywhere on him, at least that Jeff can see. Instead, it’s all contained within the toilet bowl, which Jeff only glances at briefly before averting his eyes. He doesn’t feel squeamish like he thought he might. There’s this heaviness in his stomach, not quite comprehending the enormity of what’s going on, but he’s also morbidly fascinated by the reminder that the creation of life can be so fragile.

Before he can think too hard about it, though, Harry clumsily presses down on the toilet handle and flushes it. Then it’s gone, like nothing has happened at all. 

Either he’s unashamed or he doesn’t have the energy to shoo him away; Harry gets up on shaky legs before yanking down his underwear and dropping onto the toilet seat again, resting his head in his hands as he leans forward. 

As an illusion of privacy, Jeff turns around but doesn’t leave the bathroom, instead focusing on the trim around the door, noting the few cracks in the paint where it’ll need to be redone soon. 

It’s not long before Harry is flushing one final time and straightening his clothes. Jeff watches him as he washes his hands in the sink slowly and methodically. Harry looks at his own reflection in the mirror with an expression that Jeff can’t place, pushing his sweaty hair into some semblance of order. 

Jeff touches his lower back gently. “Do you wanna try to take a shower? I can get that plastic stool for you, if you don’t want to stand.”

Harry uses his arms to lean against the counter. He nods in agreement. “Can I—I need something to drink. Please.”

After a quick kiss to his shoulder, Jeff gets Harry a fresh glass of ice water and brings it back to the bathroom. Harry is working on pulling his soaked shirt over his head, but his hands keep losing their grip on the fabric. 

“Babe. Let me,” Jeff says softly. 

Harry doesn’t protest. He sways on his feet like a sleeping horse as he’s guided out of his clothes. Jeff tries to be as considerate as possible, keeping his movements slow and his grip on Harry’s limbs gentle. 

He pulls a towel off the rack to wrap Harry in while they wait for the water to heat up, and Jeff scurries off for a second to find the tall plastic stool so that Harry can sit for his shower. 

Once everything is all set up and the water temperature is suitable, Jeff pulls off his own shirt and helps Harry step over the lip of the tub and onto his seat. Jeff kneels on the floor outside of the shower. He lets Harry stay under the spray for a bit before he grabs the shampoo from the shelf. 

He washes Harry’s hair for him, using the pads of his fingers to massage it into his scalp, feeling his head loll under his ministrations. After rinsing, Jeff repeats the process again with conditioner, using the break while it sinks in to squeeze Harry’s neck and shoulders, working out any lingering tension. 

Harry’s eyes find his every so often as he works. They’re glassy and unfocused, never lingering long, but those few short seconds are enough to have Jeff’s heart breaking again. 

He scrubs Harry pink, using the gentle exfoliating mitt he likes so much before rinsing him clean and toweling him dry with tender precision. Harry seems content to be led, or at least, he’s too tired and worn out to protest anything. He lets Jeff slip a t-shirt over his head and is unnervingly cooperative as he helps him into a pair of underwear with an already-affixed sanitary pad stuck to the inside. 

Jeff watches as Harry crawls back onto his blanket nest on the couch, the first thing he’s taken initiative to do by himself in the past hour. 

“Do you need anything?” Jeff asks, even though any question right now feels odd and out of place. Like speaking in general is frowned upon when the air around them is fragile. 

Harry shakes his head. “Sit down, please,” he urges quietly. 

Jeff considers his options: on the chair, or the small spot by Harry’s feet on the couch. He picks the latter, moving gingerly so he doesn’t jostle Harry, stiff-backed and practically holding his breath. 

It’s a slow trickle, the way the day’s events start to hit him, like the beginning of a rainstorm when the drops are still small and light. Little needle-like pricks of exhaustion are assaulting him and making him want to close his eyes and sleep for a week. 

He looks over and finds Harry with the blankets tucked up under his neck, even though his forehead is still beading with sweat. His eyes are wide open, his lower lip still trembling slightly. Harry looks back at him, holding his gaze for a long while. Seconds go by. Minutes. Maybe even hours. Jeff doesn’t know. They’re in a bubble, under the roof of the perfect little house that they picked out together, where nothing has felt particularly perfect in a long time. 

Neither of them speak. They don’t need to, really. There’s nothing that anyone could say that would make anything better right now. Not the doctors. Not their family or friends. This is theirs to feel and to loathe and to deal with. 

Nightfall comes and goes. Jeff sleeps intermittently; his body wakes him every so often to check on Harry, not sure what he’s actually making sure of. That he’s still here? Whether that be in the house or just still here and mentally present. Perhaps both. Each time he blearily rubs his eyes and comes to, he finds Harry still awake and as wide-eyed as earlier. “Try to sleep, babe,” Jeff murmurs, and Harry just nods and says, “I will, don’t worry,” in a voice that’s so devoid of anything it nearly sucks Jeff into the vortex of it. 

Morning comes and nothing has changed. No magical renewal. The day prior wasn’t a bad dream or something they imagined. Time has moved on without asking their permission, the rest of the world carrying on like usual. 

They have an appointment in the afternoon with Dr. Avery, to check and make sure everything was passed completely. Then it’ll all be over—back to square one. 

The office is the same as usual: soft instrumental music playing from an unknown source, the walls still painted a cheery yellow, the padded waiting room chairs that funny inbetween of comfortable and uncomfortable. 

Harry sits straight-backed and unmoving the entire time, until their names are called and they’re brought back into one of the many rooms that have come to feel like a second, if not dreaded, home lately. 

Dr. Avery comes in almost right away. She gives them a sympathetic smile, and starts off by saying, “I just want to tell you again how sorry I am.” 

Jeff wishes that he could be more focused and present, but he tunes most of the conversation out. He nods when he thinks is appropriate, smiles tightly when Harry tries and fails to disguise his crying, and allows himself to feel relieved when they do a quick exam and it’s revealed that the miscarriage was complete with no cause for any concern about infection or other risks. 

Jeff stiffens in his seat when he hears, “You should make sure to get plenty of rest. We also recommend that you contact your primary care physician. They’ll want to go over things with you, do a more thorough checkup. Oh, and it’s advised that you wait a little while to start trying again, roughly four to six weeks, or during your next heat. Which I’m sure you already knew. But for now, if anything changes or if you start to feel unwell, you should call your PCP or come back here.” 

That’s—no. She’s making it sound like rolling dice; if you don’t get the numbers you want on the first try, just roll again, this...infinite loop of attempts. He knows that her casualness is due to the nature of her job; they’re only one case in a sea of many. He’s sure that there are plenty of other patients dealing with the same struggles as them. But he’s fixated on the acute stab he feels in his chest at the mere possibility of starting this process over again. 

They’ve had two miscarriages—so far—among a mountain of negative pregnancy tests that have left their arms empty over and over and over again. Two losses in the span of a few short months, their hope ripped from them in the blink of an eye. 

When they lost the first baby, it was easier to overcome, in a way. It was still devastating in its abruptness, not knowing that a miscarriage had even occurred until they went for an ultrasound, only to find that there was no longer a heartbeat. No other symptoms. No signs. No bleeding. It just happened right under their noses as they lived their lives blissfully unaware. They bounced back relatively quickly, fiercely determined to try again and get it right. A simple bump in the road. 

This time, however, feels like the road has been torn away and reduced to rubble under their feet, with all of the signs and streetlights missing, leaving an endless expanse of unrelenting dark with no end in sight. 

Jeff has made himself numb to everything, instead pouring himself into the selflessness of making sure that Harry is all right. Or at least, as right as someone can be given the circumstances. If he can’t give into the newly permanent ache in his chest, the least he can do is ignore it in favor of making some toast and eggs that Harry will inevitably leave untouched on the coffee table, because the simple effort of it is enough to fill him with a sense of purpose. And any type of relief, no matter how fleeting, is better than reality. 

But reality has just slapped him across the face. 

He feels like a tattered string that’s been pulled too tight, and this is the snip of scissors that is finally splitting him in two. 

They make it out to the car somehow. He doesn’t remember leaving the office or walking to the parking lot. He just hopes that he was pleasant enough to the staff and didn’t let it show that he’s ready to collapse under the weight of everything that’s happened. 

Harry must sense something about him that isn’t right, because he gets into the driver’s seat without being asked, and Jeff falls into the passenger seat, not caring where they go at this point. 

He turns on the radio as Harry is pulling out of the parking lot, quickly finding a rock station that he can crank the volume on and drown out the incessant rattle of ‘wait a little while to start trying again’ that’s splintering off into fragments and sticking him like little needles. 

_ A little while_. And then what? Wait some more, just like they did, only for everything to be ripped away? Oh, don’t worry. Put another quarter in and you get another go at it. 

Everything has finally caught up with him. He’s shaking, tears dripping down his face and landing on his jeans. He looks to his left and sees Harry’s distressed expression: wide eyes, his brows heavy and furrowed, his mouth, wobbly and lips moving rapidly. He’s talking, Jeff realizes belatedly, but he can’t hear over the rush in his ears, like he’s under ten feet of water. They’re stopped on the shoulder of the road, traffic moving by them in a rush.

Harry slapping him across the face slams everything back into crystal clear focus. He gasps, not at the pain, but at the overwhelmingness of being yanked out of his panic spiral. If he were standing his knees would surely be buckling. As it is, he lets his head fall back against the seat and covers his face with his forearm, trying uselessly to muffle and hide the way he’s crying. The ragged sobs that keep escaping without his permission sound horrible to his own ears. It’s the type of crying he hasn’t done since he was a kid. Except he hasn’t broken his arm or fallen down the stairs; this hurt is much, much worse, and even though there’s no real physical wound, his whole body aches with it. Every nerve, every cell, every atom. 

“Jeff, listen to me. Breathe. Babe, you have to breathe. _ God_, I—” Harry’s crying again too. Jeff hates it. He doesn’t want Harry to cry anymore. 

It takes a few tries, futile attempts at sucking in enough air to properly fill up his lungs, but his throat is on fire from hyperventilating, and his mouth doesn’t seem to want to cooperate. Finally, though, he manages to say, “Sorry.”

That makes Harry cry even harder. It’s a bit funny, Jeff thinks. They’re like those runners that pass the stick to each other, stopping to let the other have a turn. He wonders if they’ll be stuck like this forever now, on an indefinite loop of crying hand-offs. 

Harry’s better at talking and crying at the same time. “Don’t apologize,” he nearly yells. The music’s been turned off, so it’s extra loud in the enclosed space of the car. 

Jeff’s cheek is tingling. He touches it, notes how warm his skin is. Harry winces as he watches him. 

“I’m sorry I slapped you. I—I didn’t know what else to do. You were freaking out,” Harry says in a rush. 

Jeff is still a little fuzzy around the edges, likely a byproduct of not breathing effectively, and all he really wants is to take some ibuprofen and sleep for a week. Just pull the covers up over his head and pretend that this whole thing is just a glitch in the matrix. 

“It’s okay,” he assures Harry, the words dragging out of his mouth like his tongue is made of sandpaper. 

Harry looks like he wants to say something else, maybe offer some sort of platitude or encouragement, but he only opens and closes his mouth once before putting on his blinker and merging back into traffic. 

By the time they make it home, Jeff has pulled himself back together. He stuffs every bad feeling into a safe and locks it, leaving them to be forgotten in the back of his mind. He won’t let himself fall apart like that again: not in front of Harry and not when he’s alone. They have enough shit going on and him crumbling under the pressure isn’t going to solve anything, especially when Harry seems to retreat further into himself as nighttime steadily creeps closer. That’s Jeff’s priority: making sure that Harry doesn’t get pulled down into the abyss that Jeff just barely managed to escape. 


	3. A Pinch of This, A Pinch of That

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - January 5, 2019

Jeff is not the type of person who likes to be presented with multiple choices. Sure, he likes having options, but sometimes there’s such a thing as too many. 

Staring at the display of mattress covers is rather overwhelming. 

A pillow top sounds nice, but he’s not sure if he’d like sleeping on top of one every night. Perhaps Harry would like a cooling one, since he always seems to run so hot. He scans the different packages and shelves for something a bit more simple. 

Perfect. A basic cotton-blend, hypoallergenic mattress cover and pad. It even comes with a warranty. Hopefully they won’t have to use it. 

Neither himself nor Harry have slept in their bedroom for almost five weeks. Despite the discarded bed linens and tentative good mood immediately after leaving the hospital, Harry calling Dr. Avery that same day seemed to send him into a tailspin of catatonia. He didn’t want to eat again. He barely wanted to talk. And he certainly didn’t want to step foot near their bed unless strictly necessary. Between the two of them, they’ve probably only said a total of twenty words to each other. 

Like before, he’s been sleeping on the couch. 

This put Jeff in an interesting predicament. While he hasn’t been crazy about the idea of sleeping in their bed, he also doesn’t want to injure his back irreparably. But he couldn’t help but feel like he was being tested. Like if he chose to sleep anywhere but in the living room with Harry, it would be a betrayal of trust.

Therefore, in solidarity, he’s been sacrificing his comfort and sleeping on the recliner. 

To say he’s not feeling his best would be an understatement. His neck and spine seem to be in a perpetual state of soreness. He wakes up stiff, spends the whole day stiff, and goes to sleep stiff. 

He misses sleeping on something that doesn’t have some unspoken vendetta against him. He misses their bed. He misses sleeping next to Harry. 

He buys the mattress cover and goes straight home. Harry is still at work so the house is empty. It’s eerie, almost, in its silence. 

Their bedroom door is closed, like simply shielding the room from view will protect them from whatever forces are affecting them. The air smells dusty and stagnant when he steps past the threshold.

Jeff opens the curtains first and cracks the window for good measure. He’ll dig out the Febreeze later. For now, he sets on getting as much of the stain out of the mattress as he can. 

His arm gets tired after a bit of scrubbing with an old sponge, and it appears like it’s the best he’s going to get. There’s only a faint brown-ish mark there now, small and light enough that it’s barely noticeable. 

He leaves it to dry while he sends a few emails. There’s a message from the fertility clinic in his inbox that he’s been steadfastly ignoring since it popped up a few days ago. He’s really been lacking the mental capacity to see what it’s about. 

Today seems like a good day to just rip the bandaid off. 

It’s addressed to him and Harry, the bar at the top showing that it was forwarded to both of their email addresses. He wonders if Harry has been ignoring it as well. 

Dr. Avery’s typing style reads a bit like a greeting card or a motivational poster. Jeff tries to not let her optimism grate on him. Although she already spoke to them over the phone, and then again in person for yet another checkup, she expresses her apologies and condolences for their loss, reiterating that none of it was anyone’s fault. She tells them that there is no pressure to rush into things again—that they should take their time and wait until they’re ready. 

Jeff isn’t sure what ‘ready’ means anymore. He closes Gmail and checks on the mattress. 

Satisfied that it’s dry enough, he takes the new mattress cover out of its package and stretches it out, tucking the corners over and under so it’s snug and not in danger of slipping off anytime soon. He digs a set of sheets out of the linen closet and retrieves their comforter from the couch, destroying the little nest Harry has created for himself. 

The bed looks good as new, if not the same as it did before this whole mess. Inviting as it is, Jeff forces himself to resist a nap and checks what they have in the fridge.

Nothing—that’s what they have. He’s been living off of instant macaroni and McDonald’s salads. He’s pretty sure the milk is long since expired, and that the tupperware container of leftovers from who knows when probably has a small colony of creatures living in it. 

He gets rid of everything, plugging his nose and dumping stuff in the sink to chop up in the garbage disposal. The only things he keeps are non-perishables and stuff he bought within the past few days. By the time he’s done, the kitchen is nearly wiped out. Jeff, however, is riding high on catharsis. 

Harry comes home just as Jeff is bringing out a garbage bag to put in the bin outside. Through the glass of the car door, Jeff can see his furrowed brows and the confused tilt of his mouth. 

“Hi. I just put the trash out yesterday,” Harry says as he’s stepping out of his car. 

Jeff shrugs. “Was doing some cleaning. So we accumulated some more trash.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Harry is setting his work bag down at the kitchen table when Jeff steps up next to him. 

“How was work?” he asks. His hand hovers near Harry’s waist but doesn’t touch.

“Fine.”

“That’s it? Just fine?”

Harry toes off his sneakers and brings them over to the mat by the door. “Yeah. Uneventful day. Not great but not bad either.”

Jeff leans back against the counter. “All right. Cool. I was just asking.”

He watches as Harry takes into account the state of the living room. The way his makeshift bed has been disassembled, all of the sheets and blankets he’s been using neatly folded and set aside on the couch. 

“You’ve been busy today, I see.”

_ Someone has to take care of the house_, Jeff thinks, but doesn’t say. 

“Just doing some cleaning. Like I said.”

“I would’ve done it,” Harry says meekly. 

Something in Jeff’s chest loosens. He lets out a breath. “No worries. You’ve been working.”

Jeff suspects that Harry’s increase in hours has been intentional, and not because of his supervisor or a real need for him to be there more. 

Standing in the archway, mouth twisted in displeasure, looking slighter than usual in his too-big blue scrubs, Harry wrings his hands together. “You’ve been working too, though.”

“Yeah, from home.”

“Still,” Harry says stubbornly.

“Listen. I don’t wanna fight.” Jeff steps towards Harry, who doesn’t move away. It’s progress, considering that Harry has barely let Jeff touch him lately, and barely tried to initiate touch in return. Jeff can’t remember the last time they kissed.

Jeff continues. “There’s, like. No food in the house right now. And I don’t know about you, but I kinda feel like getting pizza.”

Harry hums noncommittally. “Yeah, that sounds good.”

“Are you actually going to eat any?” Jeff strokes a thumb over Harry’s forearm.

Harry blinks and looks away, crossing his arms across his chest. “I’m not, like, super hungry. But I’ll have a bite.”

“Did you eat today?”

“Yeah.”

“Mhm. What?”

Harry’s mouth opens and closes, his eyes darkening. “I had something earlier. _ Why _are you being like this? 

Jeff sighs and shakes his head. He pulls his phone out of his pocket and types in the name of the takeout place one town over. “Forget it. Are cheese and barbeque chicken okay with you?” 

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s great. I’m just gonna...shower. There’s money in my wallet if you need any.” 

Harry disappears down the hall. 

Jeff waits for the sound of the shower turning on to place the order. The girl who answers the phone tells him it should be about a half hour before everything is done. 

Sinking into the couch, Jeff scrubs his hands over his face. He’ll wait until Harry is done to ask him if he’d like to come along for the ride. Likely not, but Jeff can try. 

He grabs the remote off the coffee table and clicks the TV on. There’s nothing on that really appeals to him until he stumbles upon a show about ancient Egypt. He can always count on the Smithsonian channel.

“Jeff?” says a voice from behind him, a handful of minutes later.

Jeff nearly throws the remote. He turns and finds Harry behind him, still damp and wrapped in a big towel that’s tucked under his armpits and obscuring pretty much everything except his calves, wet hair dripping all over the place. 

“Jesus Christ, you scared me,” Jeff breathes. 

Harry drops his eyes to the carpet. “Sorry,” he mumbles. “Uhm. The bedroom. You—you fixed it.”

There was never anything wrong with it. Except that its only purpose lately has been serving as a scapegoat for things they don’t want to confront. 

Jeff tries his best to pull his face into a soft smile. “Dusted it and everything. Clean sheets and pillowcases. Opened a window for a bit, to air it out.”

Harry is quiet, biting his bottom lip. He inhales deeply, like he’s steeling himself. “Would you—” he cuts himself off, huffs a humorless laugh and shakes his head. “Would you, like. Lay down with me? Please?”

A tiny piece inside Jeff’s chest breaks off and causes a whole avalanche to go tumbling down with it. Not quite relief, but something close. “Yeah. Of course. I have to get dinner first, but as soon as I get back. Unless, uh. You’d want to come with me. Just for something to do.”

“Sure. Let me just—put on some clothes.” He tilts his head in the direction of their bedroom and turns on his heel. 

Sure enough there’s a small damp spot where he was standing. Jeff throws a hand towel from the kitchen over it and grabs a pair of shoes. 

Harry emerges again, this time in a pair of light wash jeans and a white t-shirt. Up close, as he touches Jeff’s lower back to pick up his own shoes off the ground, Jeff can smell the orange blossom soap that he always uses. Just that small point of contact has Jeff’s skin humming.

Jeff locks up the house while Harry gets buckled in the passenger seat, and then they’re off. 

Even with the sun beginning its descent below the horizon, it’s still bright out, and warm enough to roll down the windows per Harry’s request. 

The wind feels nice, even though they both have to squint a bit against it. Beside him, Harry appears mostly indifferent, but Jeff can see that he’s holding himself differently than he has been. Not happier, at least not quite yet. But certainly lighter. Like he doesn’t have invisible weights on his shoulders at the moment.

Carefully, with slow, subtle movements, Jeff inches his hand across the center console and lays his hand out so his palm is facing upwards. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he catches the way Harry looks at it, and then up to Jeff’s face. 

Without a word, and while looking forward again, Harry places his hand overtop of Jeff’s, lacing their fingers together. 

If he wasn’t driving, Jeff would jump up and down and shout with joy. But under the circumstances, he simply squeezes Harry’s hand instead, gentle and firm. 

Neither of them really speak, except for the occasional mumbled lyrics under their breath, singing along with whatever is playing on the radio. 

Harry actually offers to go in and get the pizzas, refusing to accept Jeff’s wallet or card.

“I got it,” he says, just the faintest hint of dimple coined into his left cheek.

Jeff raises his hands in surrender. “Okay. Have at it, kid.”

He’s missed this easiness. The playful bickering. Not having Harry avoid him like he’s some type of plague. 

Through the glass, he can see Harry paying at the counter. The person behind it laughs at whatever he’s saying, and Jeff’s heart swells. 

“Smells good,” Jeff says, as soon as Harry gets back in the car, the two stacked boxes sitting in his lap.

“Yes, and they’re kinda burning my legs. So if we could make this ride home quick, that would be lovely.”

Jeff gives a mock salute and puts the car in reverse. “Yes, sir.” 

At home, dinner is an unceremonious and relatively short affair. They don’t bother with any of their fine china (ceramic plates that came in a set and were on sale at Target when they bought the house), instead opting for paper plates and a stack of napkins on the center of the kitchen table. Having dinner together like this isn’t always possible with the way their two work schedules line up, or rather often _ don’t _line up. So it’s a very welcome change of pace. 

The cheese pizza gets absolutely decimated and the BBQ doesn’t fare much better. By the time they’re both full, there are only four slices left, which Harry leaves in the box and deposits in the fridge. 

Despite the casual banter that took place while they were eating, once the table is clear and everything is cleaned up, they orbit around each other like a planet and moon. Harry—who’s usually the more forward, bold one—is acting _ shy, _of all things.

Jeff knows that simply speaking the words aloud to him earlier was enough of a trial for Harry. He won’t ask again, and Jeff doesn’t want to cajole for the sake of cajoling, especially when Harry seems to be keeping a safe distance between them even now. He’s moving things around that don’t really need to be moved, like their shoes by the door and the remotes on the coffee table. 

Still, Jeff feels compelled to ask; he wants the verbal confirmation, mostly for his own benefit. When Harry has his back to him, Jeff grabs both of his strong shoulders and applies gentle pressure with his thumbs to the spots he can feel are tight. “Wanna lay down for a bit? Maybe take a nap?”

Harry takes a deep breath that Jeff can feel under his palms. There’s a smile in his voice. “It’s almost eight o’clock.”

“Well. Then we’ll just be going to bed super early.”

Harry turns around and Jeff moves his hands down to his waist, slotting his fingers into the grooves where he can just faintly make out his ribs under his shirt.

“Can I brush my teeth first?”

“You can do whatever you want. Just as long as it’s not like, practicing the clarinet or something. Too loud.”

“I don’t play the clarinet.”

“Well then. It’s my lucky day.”

Harry rolls his eyes, the corners of his mouth lifting. Jeff wants to kiss him so badly; he wants to pick him up, squeeze him as hard as he can, and shout from the rooftops about how much he loves this human being. 

But he also wants to move at Harry’s pace. So he barely moves—barely _ breathes_—when Harry lightly strokes his finger over his eyebrow, the gesture so odd and intimate that Jeff’s knees nearly turn to liquid. 

He follows Harry down the hall like he’s walking on a cloud. Stopping in the bathroom to wash up doesn’t lift the spell, not even when they both take turns to spit foam into the sink. All of the little intricacies of getting undressed—hopping on one foot to peel socks off, dropping dirty clothes into the hamper—only add to it, this air of...communion. 

They slip under the sheets with nothing more than the sound of fabric against skin. They both lay down on their sides—face to face, with barely an arm’s length of space separating them. It still feels like there’s a canyon between their bodies; their shoulders, pressed to the mattress below, are two halves of a raised bridge on each side of the gap, making crossing impossible. 

Harry is the one to lower his half of the bridge first, slowly inching his fingers towards Jeff.

Jeff keeps his eyes on Harry’s, caught between never wanting this moment to end and waiting for something to come tearing through this illusion they’ve hastily built. 

He watches Harry’s lips move; he’s saying something that Jeff can’t quite hear.

Blinking quickly, Jeff whispers, “What?”

Harry sniffs and clears his throat. “I’ve missed you.”

There’s a tiny creature in Jeff’s head, nasty with fangs and black eyes, who’s snarling, “I’ve been right here the whole time! _ You’re _ the one who’s been ignoring _ me _!”

Maybe Harry knows and maybe he doesn’t, but either way, he has Jeff’s heart pinned under his foot, ready to be crushed by him at any given time. 

Jeff says, “I’ve missed you, too.”

He wants to ask, _ Where have you been? _ And he doesn’t just mean _ physically _where. All Jeff has had to do for the past handful of weeks is check the couch and he’d be guaranteed to find Harry there if he wasn’t otherwise at the hospital. Except Harry always looked like he was somewhere else, in his own head. 

He doesn’t look like that now. 

“_God_, all I fucking do lately is cry,” Harry says thickly, laughing at himself.

Jeff pulls Harry’s hand to his chest and holds it between both of his own. He swallows past the lump in his throat. “You’re allowed.”

Harry slides across the empty space between them, so that they’re almost nose-to-nose and Jeff has to cross his eyes to look at him.

“Are you okay? I—I don’t have any excuses. For how I’ve been acting. But I’m sorry. So, _ so _sorry. And—”

“Hey, relax. I’ve been like, dealing with things. In my own way. I figured—I don’t know. I thought it would be best to just give you space and stuff.”

“I think I lean on you too much. Like, I expect you to always hold me up and that’s not fair to you.”

In some ways, they’re repeating a conversation they’ve already had. Instead of being redundant, it’s almost comforting to hear these things be said again, if not phrased in the exact same way. 

Jeff cups Harry’s cheek, using his thumb to wipe away the trickle of moisture that’s leaving a wet trail behind. He shakes his head, hair rubbing against the pillowcase. “No. You don’t get to make that call. I—“

“But aren’t you _ tired _?” Harry asks miserably.

“Listen. I want you to listen to me, okay?” Jeff waits for Harry to nod. “It’s not a matter of who’s doing what or for who. We’re doing this. Me and you, babe. We made promises to each other and that’s what counts. Shit’s hard sometimes. And we’re both allowed to have bad days. _ Multiple _bad days. It’s all right.”

Harry bites his bottom lip and shifts, but doesn’t argue. 

Jeff takes a deep breath. “I’m still not fully okay with what’s happened. And I don’t expect you to be, either. It’s not a reflection on either of us. But we’re gonna get past it.”

“I should’ve asked you sooner. But I’ve been _ really selfish_, and just like. Moping around the house and stuff and that’s not okay. It’s _ not_.”

“We both could’ve handled things better—”

“Don’t do that. You always try to deflect and take some of the blame but I’m talking about _ me _right now. And you need to let me.”

Jeff presses his lips together into a firm line. “Fine,” he pauses, cheeks heating. “I’ve felt a little alone for the past couple weeks. Is that what you want to hear?”

Harry winces and tries to cover it up with a cough. “Yes. I—I needed that, I think. I’m gonna try. To be better.”

Jeff sighs. “Harry, I don’t want you to try and put a bandaid on things and call it a day. It's only been a little over a month. But do you know what I _ really _want?”

“What?”

“I want you to_ talk to me_. You gotta stop keeping all this shit to yourself.”

Harry’s brows knit together while he considers this. They’re still so close that Jeff can feel the breath from his nose hitting his own chin.

“You too,” Harry says softly. “I want you to tell me things, too. Even when you think it might hurt my feelings. I don’t care. I want to know.”

“Okay. That’s—that’s fair. I’ll try to be more...forthcoming.”

Jeff’s world feels a bit like it’s been tilted on its axis. He’s been so caught up in worrying about everyone but himself, focusing only on how things have been negatively impacting Harry, that he’s failed to recognize some of his own mistakes along the way. Not because he’s above picking out his own flaws—he’s certainly not above that—but because he thought he was doing Harry a favor by keeping his own grief to himself. 

Harry nods again, a fresh round of tears gathering in his red-rimmed eyes. His skin is getting blotchy and the tip of his nose is extra pink. There’s a more pronounced smattering of breakouts near his hairline and on his temples, likely a result of the span of days he spent not showering, not taking care of himself, when Jeff was afraid to help him. 

He’s still stunning. Nothing could ever change that. But beauty isn’t what’s making Jeff want to kiss him. It isn’t what’s responsible for this yearning that has woven itself into what feels like every part of himself.

His eyes drop to Harry’s mouth. He doesn’t mean to do it. But he sees the flicker of recognition on Harry’s face: the way his pupils dilate slightly, eyebrows raising just the tiniest bit.

It’s Harry who asks, “Can I kiss you?”

Suddenly, Jeff is twenty-nine again, sitting behind the wheel of his shitty Toyota with Harry in the passenger seat, as they both subtly tried to avoid bringing the night to an end. Harry had class the next morning, and Jeff had a meeting, but they stayed out late anyway, for their _ second _official date. 

Harry was fidgeting, wringing his hands together in his lap. With “Tiny Dancer” playing softly over the speakers, Harry had glanced at Jeff only to look away, staring out the front windshield as he asked, “Uhm. Would it, like. Would it be okay—can I kiss you?”

Just like then, Jeff says to Harry now, “Yes. That would make me really happy.”

He’s expecting a barely-there brush of lips, a gentle reacquaintance. What he actually gets is his nose pressed firmly against Harry’s as their mouths meet in a rough, uncoordinated bump, both of them moving too quickly. 

Harry’s breath puffs against him, warm and damp, as he lets out a laugh. Jeff laughs, too. 

He cups the back of Harry’s head, threads his fingers into his cropped, almost-curls, and guides Harry’s mouth to his own smoothly. 

The collision is less jarring this time. Harry’s lips are soft, plush from the chapstick that he applies religiously, and he tastes like everything Jeff has ever wanted. 

Jeff lets out a quiet hum, sighing in contentment as he pulls away, only to go right back in again. 

Harry hooks his ankle around Jeff’s calf, slides his hand over Jeff’s ribs, and kneads at him like a cat with his fingertips. 

Then Harry’s mouth parts slightly. Completely helpless to the whims of his body, Jeff mirrors him. Even with the addition of tongue, the kiss is still incredibly tender and sweet, littered with light-as-air gasps and whimpers caught in their throats. 

When Jeff opens his eyes, everything is blurry, and not just from how close they are. His eyes are wet and brimming; he blinks harshly, forcing the tears down his already-hot cheeks. 

He keeps his mouth on Harry’s, focuses his attention there, trying to swallow his every sound like it’s the only form of sustenance keeping him alive. His veins are buzzing, all of the nerves in his body lit up like firecrackers. It takes all of his effort to keep himself steady. 

Harry pulls a few inches away from him and Jeff breathes like he’s just come up from underwater. He doesn’t open his eyes this time. Even as Harry mewls softly. Even as he feels Harry’s hands on his face, gentle fingers wiping away the moisture from under his eyes. 

“Jeffrey…” Harry says, voice shaking. 

Jeff opens his mouth to speak but then closes it again. It’s right there on the tip of his tongue: an _ I’m fine _ or _ It’s okay_. It would certainly be easier. He’s not good at articulating his feelings at the best of times, never mind _ now _, when his mind is going a mile a minute and he still has the ghost of Harry’s lips on his. It feels like it’s been forever. He didn’t realize how much he’s missed such a simple act of intimacy. Now that he has it back, he’s afraid it’s going to disappear like sugar melting in warm water. 

He forces himself to meet Harry’s gaze; it takes a great physical effort to peel his eyelids open. He lets himself fully absorb the worry and concern etched on Harry’s features. “Just really missed you, is all,” Jeff says with a shrug. 

Harry is very quiet. If Jeff had a million dollars, he’d give it all away if it meant that he could know what’s going through Harry’s head right now.

Seconds feel like hours as they tick by. Eventually, though, Harry thumbs over Jeff’s cheek one final time and kisses him again, perhaps as an apology. In return, Jeff says the things he can’t actually say with a light scrape of teeth against Harry’s bottom lip and with the way he lets Harry’s tongue into his mouth, cautious and winsome as ever. 

They don’t take it further than that. Jeff is the one who puts a palm against Harry’s chest when he feels him slip a knee in between his legs. 

He looks at Harry for a long moment while he catches his breath. His pink lips are slick and his eyes have gone heavy-lidded. Jeff’s gut clenches hotly at what could be. He thinks about leaning forward again and putting Harry on his back, getting his mouth and tongue on parts of him that he desperately longs for. Or maybe he’d urge Harry on top of him to feel the warm weight of his body overtop his own and let Harry set the pace. 

But there’s a part of him, deep down, that knows they shouldn’t. That it’s not the right time for it quite yet. Passion has its place, but so does patience. They learned that the first time around. 

Harry seems to sense what Jeff is thinking. He nods once before turning his face into the pillow, letting out a long sigh.

“You okay?” Jeff whispers. The air around them feels fragile.

Blinking one eye open at him, Harry says, “Yeah. ‘M good. Are you okay? I’m sorry if...I dunno. I feel weird, a little. But then I feel even weirder for feeling weird in the first place?”

Jeff can’t help the snort that escapes him. “Eloquent.”

“Shh. You know what I mean.” Even with most of his face obscured, Jeff can still tell just how big Harry is smiling. 

“I do. But I’m still gonna give you shit. Because I like you.”

“Oh, you like me? That’s all?”

Jeff squeezes Harry’s hip, pressing his thumb against the bone that juts out there. “Yeah. I mean. I guess I like, _ love you_. Or whatever. But I wasn’t trying to get all gross and sappy.” He rolls his eyes like he’s being put upon.

“Hm. Good to know. I’ll remember that the next time you need me to fix the coffee machine.”

“I swear to God it only listens to you. It _ hates _me.”

Harry’s biting his bottom lip, trying to stifle his laughter. “Jeffrey, it’s an inanimate object. I don’t think it has the capacity to hate _ anything_.”

“Maybe,” Jeff concedes. “I think it can smell fear.”

“You’re ridiculous.” Harry rolls and stretches, settling onto his back. 

Jeff’s mouth goes a bit dry just looking at him—the skin of his chest that he knows is warm and soft. His fingers twitch before he remembers that he doesn’t need to hold himself back. He scoots over and shuffles down a bit, so his head is level with Harry’s collar bone. 

Without question or being asked, Harry pulls Jeff towards him, letting him get comfortable with his head resting on his chest and an arm draped tentatively over Harry’s waist. 

Jeff breathes out slowly in relief. He’s missed this. So much. 

He’s instantly lulled by the steadiness of Harry’s breathing and the faint sound of his heartbeat. Harry strokes his fingers over Jeff’s back, maybe doodling or writing things. All he can feel are the loops and swirls that he traces, making his skin tingle. 

They fall asleep like that, no more words needed. 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - February 25, 2019

There’s a note on the table by the door when Jeff gets home from work. 

_ At Mitch and Sarah’s - dinner in the fridge for you _

_ H x _

He’s relieved in a way, to have the house to himself for a bit. Not that Harry being around is any type of burden, but having some time to think and be alone is something that he doesn’t take for granted these days. He’s probably one of the few people who actually doesn’t mind living alone. He prefers living with Harry now, but he still thinks fondly about when he had a space that was entirely his own. 

Dinner turns out to be rice, chicken, and veggies. Jeff pops it in the microwave while he loosens his tie and slips off his leather shoes. 

He eats on the couch simply because he can. With his feet up on the coffee table, belt undone and his dress slacks unbuttoned, he alternates forking food into his mouth and switching between channels. 

By the time he’s finished, he’s watched three episodes of _ The Incredible Dr. Pol _ and it’s nearly completely dark outside with no sign of Harry’s car pulling into the driveway. 

After putting his empty plate and dirty fork in the sink, vowing to himself that he’ll wash them later, he makes for the shower. 

The day’s grime washes down the drain. Sitting in an office chair all day means that his lower back and hips are quite stiff, which the warm water helps with. He has to consciously remind himself to release the tension he holds in his body: _ breathe in two three, out two three_. 

Still warm from the hot steam in the bathroom, he opts for just a pair of boxers instead of bothering with a full set of pajamas. It’s still early, only a few minutes before eight o’clock, but he slides into bed anyway, relishing in the feel of the cool, crisp sheets against his mostly-bare skin.

That’s how Harry finds him, except he shakes Jeff awake first just to let him know that he’s home. 

“Hi, baby,” Harry says softly, crawling into bed next to him. 

Jeff rubs at his eyes. He has no idea how long he was asleep for and doesn’t feel like checking. After a quick, minty kiss, Jeff belatedly notes that Harry has already changed into his own sleep clothes.

“Hi. How’s Mitch?”

Harry fluffs his pillows and adjusts them so he can sit back against the headboard. “Good, good.”

“Was Sarah home?”

“No, she had a teachers’ conference to go to. So it was just me, Mitch, and the baby.”

“Felix. What a little legend. Is he walking yet?”

“Not yet. Probably soon, though. He kept grabbing the coffee table and like, shuffling around it. He was having a blast.” Despite the way his face lights up, Harry’s voice has an edge to it. 

Jeff knows that edge. He changes the subject, not willing to dwell on why Harry regularly hurts himself by visiting their friends who have small children running around, often wondering if it’s akin to the pleasure-pain of pressing on a bruise. 

“We secured that deal at work today.” Jeff and his team have been working to secure an up-and-coming solo artist for months now: a fiercely talented young girl who writes songs for her girlfriend, with a voice that can knock anyone’s socks off. She put up a good fight for a bit to make sure she has control over her music, which Jeff wanted to ensure as well. And now she’s happily on their roster. 

Harry’s eyes shoot up his forehead. “No way. Really?”

“Yup. Passed papers and everything.”

“Oh my God. That’s _ great_. I’m so happy for you.” Harry rubs Jeff’s forearm and rolls so he can lean in and kiss him on the mouth, quick and sweet.

Jeff gets his arm under Harry’s upper back and pulls him closer. “I’m just happy it’s over. The whole thing was such a pain in the ass.” 

With his face tucked into Jeff’s neck, Harry speaks against his skin, lips tickling him. “I knew you’d get her though. You always do.”

Jeff closes his eyes, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Mm. Thanks, kid.”

“You’re welcome.”

Harry starts slowly, almost innocent at first. Small pecks placed under Jeff’s jaw, over his collar bone, up towards his ear where he’s extra sensitive. He lets Harry have his way, not commenting for fear of disturbing the moment. He’s content to lie back and accept what’s given to him. 

It’s a kiss that’s a bit firmer than the rest, with a swipe of warm tongue, that has Jeff inhaling and squeezing Harry’s arm. 

“What’re you doing?” Jeff asks softly.

“What?” Harry kisses him again, this time pressing himself up onto an elbow so his face is looming over Jeff’s. “Am I not allowed to kiss you?”

“No, no. By all means, continue. I just…” Jeff doesn’t know how to finish. How does he ask where this is going without it sounding like he’s expecting something? They’ve only just gotten back into a pseudo-routine, creeping towards the stability they had before. He doesn’t want anything that might ruin that. 

Harry raises his eyebrows, smirking knowingly. “You sure?”

“Positive.”

Despite his assurances, Jeff goes a bit stiff when Harry slides onto his lap, thighs on either side of his hips and perched like a prince on his throne. The weight of him is familiar and foreign all at once. Automatically, Jeff’s hands slide up over his knees towards his sides, where he presses his thumbs into the grooves of Harry’s hip flexors. 

With only a couple layers of fabric between them, it takes all of Jeff’s willpower to pace himself, to let things build naturally. He’s still not even sure how far Harry wants to take things. But he’ll be damned if this is over before it even starts. He keeps reminding himself that this isn’t the same as last time, when they jumped into things too fast. He’d like to think they’re better prepared now.

Casually, Harry drags his pointer finger down the middle of Jeff’s chest, through the hair there, his touch light as a feather but no less intense than if he was scratching him. The light from the lamp next to their bed is casting Harry’s face in sharp relief, all heavy, intent brows and pouty lips. His eyes stay mostly down as he touches Jeff, tracing random shapes. But when he looks up at Jeff from under his dark lashes, Jeff can’t help the way his heart skips a beat. 

His skin feels lit up, his stomach all twisted in the best way. He swallows and moves slowly, so that Harry can stop him at any time, as he inches his hands backwards to squeeze Harry’s ass over his underwear. 

The soft flesh there gives under Jeff’s fingers, the perfect mix of supple and firm. Jeff closes his eyes, thanking all of his lucky stars for allowing him to end up in this position. 

Harry pitches forward, hands braced on the pillow under Jeff’s head. His mouth meets Jeff’s like a question, and Jeff answers him the best he can, yielding and following Harry’s lead. 

Harry’s tongue slides against Jeff’s own, hot and soft and perfect. Jeff shifts, his hips rocking up and seeking friction. 

Despite all of his earlier sultriness and confidence, Harry falters for a moment, pulling away to take a deep breath. Jeff pushes his hands up under the back of Harry’s t-shirt, rubbing soothing circles into the dimples at the bottom of his back with his thumbs. He feels Harry relax a little, visibly releasing tension that Jeff didn’t even know he was holding onto. 

Jeff turns his head and kisses Harry’s wrist, feels the butterfly beat of his pulse under the skin there. That’s all it takes for Harry to be back in it, tilting his pelvis so he can grind his growing erection against Jeff’s. 

They both moan in unison at the contact. The physical sensation is wonderful, but the simple knowledge that Harry is not only allowing this to happen, but actively enjoying it too, is beyond heady. 

Pacing things gets thrown out the window. Once Harry starts, he doesn’t stop, rolling his whole body while their mouths meet in a tangle of shared breath and wet tongues. It’s uncoordinated and a tiny bit sloppy—definitely unpolished—but Jeff wouldn’t change it for the world. 

As Harry’s hips move faster, Jeff meets him halfway, bending his knees slightly and digging his heels into the mattress to thrust up and give as good as he’s getting. 

“More,” Harry whispers. “Naked. More naked.”

Jeff snorts against his mouth: a single warm puff of air. He hooks his fingers into the waistband of Harry’s briefs and works on getting them down his thighs, stopping about halfway. Harry takes nonverbal direction well, and after a quick tap to his knee, he helps Jeff get them the rest of the way off, neither of them interested in separating long enough for Harry to roll off him and do it himself. 

With complete singular focus—like he has horse blinders on—Jeff immediately gets his hands back on Harry’s now-bare ass, squeezing more roughly this time, but not nearly hard enough to hurt him in any way. It’s physically warmer, touching him without fabric in the way, and the quick assessment goes straight to his own dick, which is begging to be let out and join the party. 

Harry seems to read his mind. He goes upright again so he can return the favor and wiggle Jeff’s boxers off before dropping his weight back down and angling himself so their cocks are nestled together. 

Jeff is breathing heavy—he sounds like he’ll need a puff of Harry’s inhaler soon if he’s not careful. He doesn’t care, though. He’d find a way to hold his breath for ten minutes if it meant being able to keep doing this. 

In contrast to their previous haste and fervor, the rhythm Harry starts with is slow and steady, like he’s reacquainting himself with the mechanics of the easy back and forth motion. 

With sweat beading at his temples and on his upper lip, Jeff isn’t sure how much longer he’s going to last, but he lets Harry do as he pleases. 

However, what he really wants is to make Harry come, and make Harry come _ first_. He can’t recall the last time he witnessed Harry orgasm, and he worries briefly that it was well before they started the fertility treatments. It’s enough to kick him into action, using one hand to halt the motion of Harry’s lower body and the other to tip Harry’s chin up with his finger.

“Hey. Let me, okay?”

With his ribcage expanding and contracting quickly, Harry nods. A lock of damp hair flops onto his forehead; Jeff places it back where it belongs and then reaches for Harry’s cock, which is dark and full and curving towards his belly.

Jeff easily wraps his hand around him, squeezing slightly at the base before giving him a smooth stroke up, sliding his foreskin over the head and squeezing again. Right away, it’s enough to make Harry whine and writhe, his face scrunching up as he closes his eyes tightly.

The next stroke makes him fall forward, stopping himself with his hands pressed against Jeff’s chest, biting his own bottom lip. 

“Feel good?” Jeff asks, his spine tingling with pleasure like it’s an extension of Harry’s body. 

Harry’s answer is a half-choked moan as Jeff dips his thumb into his slit and palms his balls with his opposite hand. 

Jeff keeps the easy pace he started, listening to the faint squelching noises as Harry gets wetter and watching the rosy, leaking head being revealed on every downstroke. It’s difficult to tear his eyes away from the sight of his own fist, but it’s worth it to watch Harry’s face. 

He still looks like he’s teetering on the edge of something, perhaps not quite ready to give himself over completely. His hips are tense, agitated in a way that suggests it’s not just from all of the good sensations he’s feeling. Jeff starts varying the strokes he gives him, changing the pace and flicking his wrist at different points to see how he reacts. 

There’s a disconnect between Harry’s body and his mouth; he’s vocal about his pleasure, moaning and whimpering and letting Jeff know what he likes with no shadow of doubt, but he’s holding himself too rigidly, some unknown thing holding him back. 

Jeff thought that it would take no time at all, that the months of Harry putting his desires on the backburner would put him on a hair trigger when he did finally reacquaint himself with receiving instead of just giving. It would hurt Jeff’s ego if he didn’t know that in the past, these very same things have had Harry coming in no time. 

He changes tactics. Urging Harry down with his free hand, he pulls him into a kiss, whispers against his mouth, “Want you to come. You deserve it. Do you wanna let me give it to you?”

Harry lets out a strangled cry, his whole body trembling now. With the new position, it gives Jeff less room to work but he uses it to his advantage, keeping his motions slow and focusing on the parts that make Harry start to babble and curse, like that spot just under the head. 

“You’re so beautiful. Love the way you look and sound. C’mon. Show me how gorgeous you are when you come.” Jeff can barely finish his sentence before Harry is spilling hot and wet between them, jerking erratically like he can’t contain the intensity firing off inside of him. 

Jeff holds him steady, gentling his touch and kissing Harry when he’s not otherwise moaning loud enough to risk the neighbors hearing them. 

After one final shudder, Harry starts to laugh. Soft giggles into the crook of Jeff’s neck turn into full belly laughs that light up the air of their bedroom like fireworks. Jeff can’t help it—he starts to laugh too.

“_God_,” Harry says, lifting his head to reveal his tomato-red face. 

Jeff smiles. “Good?”

“Where did _ that _come from?” He thumbs over Jeff’s bottom lip. “All that stuff you said. I forgot you could dirty talk like that.”

Now it’s Jeff’s turn to blush. “I dunno if I’d consider that _ dirty talk_. It was pretty PG compared to like, porn. Unless you’d rather I do that.”

“_No_. God, no. I like your version better,” Harry assures.

“Noted.” 

“And don’t look so smug about it, Jeffrey,” Harry says and punctuates it with a pinch to Jeff’s right nipple. 

Jeff forces himself not to flinch and waggles his eyebrows. His dick, which has mostly been forgotten so far (and not that he’s complaining), gives a valiant twitch when Harry sits back more firmly and bumps against it. 

“Shall I return the favor?” Harry asks, already sliding off and rolling onto his side so he can lay with his head on Jeff’s chest and wrap a warm hand around him, almost exactly like how they started. 

“_Christ_,” Jeff says.

“Do I have to provide running commentary like you did?” 

“No—”

“Should I do some corny porn dialogue? Since you were the one who mentioned it.”

Jeff’s eyes scrunch closed as Harry starts up a quick, easy rhythm right away. “You don’t—”

Harry adapts an overly theatrical breathy tone. “You like that? You—”

“Harry, please.” Jeff is caught between laughing and moaning. 

“Fine. Just a regular handjob for you, then.” He kisses Jeff sweetly on the collarbone while simultaneously squeezing the head of his dick. 

Jeff practically chokes. Whatever Harry wants to give him is more than fine.

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - March 3, 2019

“I need new running sneakers,” Harry says, apropos of nothing. 

Jeff is on the recliner with his laptop perched on his thighs. He pauses his typing of a memo. 

“Okay,” he says. 

Harry’s standing in the archway between the kitchen and the living room. He has a swipe of yellow batter on his right cheek; the whole house smells like the corn muffins he decided to randomly bake. 

“I was thinking of going to the Orange outlets. I wanna see if the Nike store has anything on sale.”

Jeff nods and glances back down at his screen, finishing up the sentence he was writing. 

“Alright.”

“Well, I was wondering if you’d maybe want to go with me.” Harry makes his way across the room, gently taking Jeff’s laptop and setting it down on the coffee table. He replaces himself with it, perching on Jeff’s lap and letting his legs dangle over the armrest. 

Jeff secures an arm around Harry’s waist. “When did you want to go?”

“Today? I’ll buy you lunch and everything.” Harry grins at him with all of his teeth. 

“Bribery. I like it. Are we just going to Nike or am I getting dragged into a whole day of shopping?”

“They have Lindt _ and _Krispy Kreme. I’ll let you go in both.”

“Oh, you’ll let me? How generous.” Jeff wiggles his fingers against Harry’s ribs and makes him laugh and squirm. 

“Stop that,” he says, giggling. “Come on. Let’s get dressed and go.”

So they do. Harry drives, so it takes them twice as long to get there than if Jeff had been driving. Once they do arrive, instead of heading straight to Nike like Jeff anticipated, Harry takes his hand and leads him in an entirely different direction. 

As soon as Jeff figures out their trajectory, he panics a bit. 

“_No_,” he whines, dragging his feet. “When I said that you could wax my chest it was a _ joke_. You weren’t supposed to take it seriously.”

Harry has his hand on the door handle of Burke Williams Day Spa. He gives Jeff an odd look. “What? I’m—no. You’re not getting _ waxed_. _ Neither _of us are. I booked us massages. Surprise?” He does jazz hands for emphasis.

Jeff lets out a loud breath of relief. “Jesus. You scared me for a second there. Thank you. I—yeah. C’mere.”

He doesn’t care that the front desk attendant can see them through the glass. He pulls Harry close and kisses him square on the mouth, pressing his fingers against his lower back. 

When Harry pulls back, he’s smiling dazedly. His eyes flutter open. “Are you ready to go in now? Or shall we continue to give everyone a free show?”

“I’ll give them a show alright,” Jeff murmurs lowly, getting a handful of Harry’s ass and squeezing quickly. 

Harry hums pointedly but otherwise ignores him, opting instead to open the door and walk up to the front desk. 

They don’t have to wait for long; evidently Harry timed things perfectly, if not a little riskily by asking Jeff to join him for the day so last minute. But it’s all worked out. 

A woman comes to collect them and bring them out back where they’re led to a private room for _ disrobing_. Jeff can’t help but snicker at the formality. There’s a pair of white terrycloth bathrobes that they both slip on once they’re down to just their underwear. And then neither of them are quite sure what to do. They look at each other, puzzled.

“Do we like, yell? Is there a buzzer we can hit?” Jeff asks.

Harry looks like he’s genuinely considering both of those things, checking the walls for a button of some kind. His slippers—which are also complementary—slide across the floor with a swish noise as he walks. “I dunno. I think we just wait.”

They don’t have to wonder for much longer. There’s a knock at the door, and after they confirm that they’re decent and covered, it’s opened and the woman from before leads them to a different room down the hall. 

Jeff has actually never been to a spa or anything of the sort in his life. However, he has seen enough TV and movies to know what he’s supposed to do. 

It’s a bit embarrassing, clambering up onto the massage table and lying on his stomach, but he feels less bad when he watches Harry gracelessly almost slip twice before finally settling. 

Jeff doesn’t get the opportunity to laugh, as Harry is already shooting him a warning glare. 

Both of their robes are removed and replaced with a warm, sheet-like blanket that covers their lower halves. Jeff tries to breathe away the little bit of panic that starts to buzz around under his ribs, being so exposed and at the mercy of another human being. This is supposed to be a nice thing, having scented oil spread out over his shoulders and back while expert fingers press into points that he didn’t even realize were holding tension until he sighs in relief. 

It doesn’t take very long for him to feel like human jelly. He keeps his eyes closed through most of it, letting himself be moved as necessary—stretching his arm a certain way for better access to a tight spot, or rolling onto his back—and only glances at Harry when he hears him try to contain a giggle as his masseuse hits a ticklish spot. 

They finish with some hot rocks placed on what Jeff assumes are strategic spots all over his back. It stings a bit at first, but after a few moments it feels good, like the warmth of the sun hitting you at the beach. 

He doesn’t want to leave. Jeff could just live on the massage table and be fed through the hole in the headrest. 

However, their session does have to come to an end. So he forces himself to stand on legs that feel like cooked pasta (the calf massage he got was lovely), and finds Harry asleep and snoring on his respective table. 

Jeff secures his bathrobe and gently touches Harry’s bare shoulder, giving him a little squeeze. 

“Hey. Sleeping beauty. Time to go.”

Harry’s nose scrunches slightly as he twitches and shifts. After a sharp inhale, he quickly opens his eyes and blinks around the room. “Hm?” he mumbles. 

“We’re all done.”

It takes Harry a few moments to reorient himself, sleepy eyes bouncing around the room and taking stock of everything, a slight furrow in between his brows. But he recovers quickly and dismounts from the table, albeit a little clumsily, and stretches. “Right,” he says. “Forgot where we were for a bit.” After a soft chuckle, he leads the way back to the changing room with Jeff trailing dutifully behind him, and everything seems just a little better than before.

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - March 10, 2019

Harry is up early, which usually isn’t anything out of the ordinary. But lately he’s taken to slower starts in the mornings when he doesn’t have work, lounging in bed or sleeping in. 

Jeff’s 7:30 alarm goes off and as soon as he’s awake he instantly registers the sounds of Harry puttering around the house. With his phone on snooze, Jeff pulls the covers up tighter around himself and vows to get another few minutes of sleep, but it proves to be of no use. 

He rolls out of bed, rubbing the sleep from his eyes, then makes a pit stop in the bathroom to pee and half-assedly brush his teeth before he makes his way into the living room. 

Harry is stood precariously on a chair that he dragged away from their kitchen table, using it as a makeshift step ladder to do...well. Jeff isn’t exactly sure what he’s doing. He’s fiddling with the curtains with a screwdriver in his hand, muttering something to himself under his breath. 

“Good morning. What in God’s name are you up to?” 

Jeff would feel bad about the way Harry startles and jumps if it wasn’t so funny. 

“Fuck, you scared me,” Harry breathes. “Give a guy a bit of warning next time.”

“Why are you HGTV-ing our house before eight AM?”

“Well, I was inspired by the cleaning that you did. And we never put up the nice curtain rods that we bought like, last year. So I wanted to do that.”

Jeff nods. “At seven forty-something on a Saturday morning.”

“Yeah.”

“Alrighty then. Please don’t fall or stab yourself,” Jeff says, and leaves Harry to finish his project.

The proactivity seems to be permeating the air around them, because Jeff decides to skip his usual go-to of cereal in favor of taking out a pan and some eggs. 

He’s at the stove, using a rubber spatula to carefully and slowly scrape through his scrambled eggs when he feels a hand touch his hip.

“How soon do you think you could get some time off from work?” Harry asks, casual and quiet.

“Uh. Not sure. Why?” Jeff pivots to the left and grabs a plate from the cabinet before setting it down on the counter next to the stove.

Harry slips his arm fully around Jeff’s waist. “I was just thinking. Like, it might be nice to get out of the house. The two of us. For a weekend or something.”

Jeff pauses, his hand on the pan’s handle, ready to slide his eggs onto the plate. He glances at Harry quickly, taking in the hopeful glint in his eyes and the way he’s biting his bottom lip. This is Harry trying—extending the olive branch. 

A short trip might be nice: a change of scenery, time for just themselves to be with each other, no distractions. The more Jeff thinks about it, the more he likes the idea. 

“Uh, yeah. That sounds great. I can—I’ll talk to the scheduler tomorrow. See what she can do.” 

“Great.” Harry beams at him.

Jeff has never really experimented with drugs beyond the occasional bowl when he was in college, but having Harry look at him like that makes him feel like he just took ecstasy.

As it turns out, he has plenty of unused vacation time available and the earliest he can take off is a little over two weeks away. It’s without an ounce of hesitation that he puts in for that Friday through Sunday off.

He tells Harry later that evening, pleased with his easy smile and the kiss he gives him, sweet and soft and warm. 

Harry throws himself into planning, even if it is for just three days. Jeff doesn’t question him. It’s a good thing, he thinks, that Harry has decided to channel his energy into something productive. He’s always on different hotel websites, trying to be as savvy as possible and ensure that they get a nice room at a fair price.

Given the short notice, their destination options are limited. But over dinner one night, Harry mentions how it might be nice to visit Lake Tahoe, the same place where they took their first ever vacation together. 

Whenever Jeff peeks a glance at Harry’s laptop, he’s almost guaranteed to find something related to their trip. Harry asks for Jeff’s input quite a bit, trying to get a feel for what type of weekend they’d like to have, whether it be something lowkey and with minimal activities, or something a bit more structured. Jeff isn’t really bothered what they do, if he’s honest, as long as it’s stress-free and he doesn’t have to attend any musicals. Given the circumstances and location, he’s pretty sure that the latter isn’t a real threat.

One night, when they officially have two weeks before Jeff’s vacation time starts, Harry passes him his phone after they’ve both gotten into bed. Jeff takes it and looks at the screen that Harry has up. It’s an Airbnb listing, and after a quick scroll and a few swipes through the photo gallery, he gathers that it’s a property almost right on the lake. There’s one bedroom, a full, modern kitchen, and a back deck that has Jeff instantly sold. 

“It’s nice, right?” Harry asks.

“Super nice. Only a quick walk to the water. Great view. With a washer _ and _dryer.”

“I don’t want to do laundry on vacation, but I guess it’s cool to know that I _ could _if we needed to.”

“You never know. You might end up pissing in all of your pants.”

Harry gives him a playful whack on the chest. “_Why _ is that your first thought? Gimme my phone back. You’re mean.”

“It’s a valid concern, babe.” 

“Congratulations on being thirteen.”

Jeff puckers his lips at him while Harry adjusts his pillows. 

“So you like it?” Harry asks, rolling onto his side, facing him.

“Yeah. Is it available for our dates?”

“Yup. Check in would be at two on Friday.”

Jeff hesitates before he asks his next question. “And how much is it? For the two nights?”

Harry unlocks his phone again and taps on the screen a few times, the backlight casting his face in a blue-white glow. He twists his lips together. “Seven hundred.”

Jeff’s eyebrows shoot up his forehead. “All right,” he says. That’s doable. He was maybe hoping for something a bit cheaper, but it won’t break the bank. He’s saving his worry for when they get their first bill from the fertility center, which still hasn’t been processed yet. 

Harry seems mildly surprised. “Really? I can—it’s fine if you want to look for something else. A place that’s not as expensive.”

Jeff nudges Harry’s shin with his foot under the covers. “No. I like that one. It’s perfect. Book it.”

“You sure?”

“Positive. Now do it before I resort to drastic measures.” He wiggles his fingers menacingly, looking pointedly at Harry’s underarms. 

Harry smiles and brings his phone back up in front of his face. After a handful of seconds, he says, “Done. All set.”

“See? How easy was that.”

The crinkles next to Harry’s eyes grow even more pronounced when he smiles, so big that his more elusive right dimple makes an appearance. 

“I’m so happy,” Harry says. While it’s perfectly clear, given his expression and his overall demeanor, it’s still nice to hear. Jeff doesn’t know when the last time Harry said those words out loud was, but he’ll do everything he can to keep him in this good mood. 

He’s pretty happy himself, all things considered. While sometimes it can feel overwhelming, the way time doesn’t stop when things get unpleasant or scary or just _ bad_, there’s beauty in it, too. With every second, minute, hour and day that passes, nothing is really finite. Nothing is so set in stone that it can’t change. Time goes on and things can get better, whether it be slow or all at once. 

He’s thankful that they both seem to be moving on. They need this. They _ deserve _it. 

“Me too,” Jeff says. “I like you like this. I’ve missed it.”

Harry doesn’t apologize, but Jeff can practically see it on the tip of his tongue, reflected in the way his face shifts the tiniest bit, his eyes darkening for only a flash. 

He extends an arm and places his warm flat palm over the left side of Jeff’s chest. 

“I—” Harry starts and cuts himself off. His brows drop and form a little crease in the middle while he thinks. “I don’t expect either of us to...be where we were before. But I want to get back to normal. A _ new _normal.”

Jeff nods and puts one of his hands overtop Harry’s. “Yeah. I want that, too.”

“I just don’t want to do this anymore,” Harry whispers.  
  
For a single, heart-shattering moment, Jeff thinks he means that he doesn’t want to stay together anymore. That he’s breaking up with him in the middle of a conversation that Jeff feels is a step in the right direction. But then he understands Harry’s words.  
  
He doesn’t say anything. Can’t make himself agree or disagree, question or ask what’s changed. Instead, he tightens the arm that he has around Harry’s shoulders, keeping him anchored to his side.  
  
Harry sighs and continues. “I’m just really tired, you know? And sick of feeling shitty all the time. And—I think…” he trails off.  
  
Jeff swallows. “Yeah?”

There’s a long stretch of silence. Jeff isn’t afraid of Harry’s next words—if anything, he thinks he knows what he might say—but any step into new territory is frightening. 

Finally, Harry says, “I think we should look into adopting. Like you wanted.”

Jeff has no qualms with adopting. It’s wonderful that people bring children into their lives that need a home and people to love them. But it was never something that Jeff actively wanted to work towards. Maybe it’s awful of him, but when he envisioned his future, he never once thought about adopting. It’s always been: find someone you love, get married, have a kid together. So far, he has one of those things checked off and he’s working on another. 

It’s just that these past months have been long and hard. There are couples that try and try and _ try _for years, and sometimes it works. But sometimes it doesn’t. And the possibility that him and Harry might keep trying to no avail is not only bleak and disheartening; it makes him feel even more tired and worn out just at the thought of it. 

So he’d never thought about adopting until recently, when it seemed like their willpower and optimism were being bled dry. After every negative test, the idea had started to appeal to him more, especially since he knows that Harry will never go for a surrogate—wouldn’t be able to handle that type of slap in the face at seeing someone else do what he thinks he should be able to. Jeff doesn't know if it's an omega thing or a Harry thing, but he's definitely certain that he'd never ask, afraid of both the answer and what it might mean. 

Adopting can be a long process too, but perhaps it would be easier if they knew they were working towards a more attainable goal, where any potential setbacks or failures would be unrelated to their bodies’ apparent limitations.

Harry had hated it the first time he brought it up—almost made him sleep on the couch for merely suggesting it over dinner. That feels like ages ago now, and is made even more distant by the way Harry is currently looking at him with an expression that’s teetering on hopeful. 

Jeff still has to double-check to make sure that Harry isn’t saying what he thinks Jeff wants to hear. “You sure?”

“Yeah.” Harry lets out a shaky breath and turns his face more firmly into Jeff’s neck where he places a barely-there kiss.  
  
It isn’t until much later that night, when Harry is already snoring softly and dead to the world, that Jeff allows himself to really consider what this fledgling decision might turn into: having a baby that isn’t biologically theirs, working closely with a third-party person in a process not unlike the one they’ve already started with IVF, doing more paperwork and more waiting. 

He’s not entirely sure how it works, but he tries to imagine himself and Harry leafing through a stack of papers from inside a manila folder, looking at pictures of children and babies, trying to decide which one they might want to pursue. There’s a detachedness in that too—not that it should make a difference if a child has your DNA or not. But he allows himself the selfish thought of _ why_. Why should they be denied a baby that’s half of them both?  
  
This quickly turns into a spiral of thoughts that he’s pushed so far into the depths of his mind that he nearly has to dust them off when they pop up, unbidden, in flashes and fragments.

What would their baby look like? What would they _ be _like? Would they have dark curly hair like his nephews, and like he had as a kid? Or would they be like young Harry—straight blond hair with great big eyes that hold the whole world in them? He’d hope that they would inherit some of Harry’s boldness, a quality that Jeff has many times wished he possesses. But maybe they would be calm like himself, something he prides himself on. 

Maybe they wouldn't be any of those things. Making a baby means creating a whole new person from scratch, who has the freedom to be someone totally unique. That would be just fine, too.  
  
He knows that Harry will love whatever child they end up with wholly and without hesitation. But Jeff wonders if he’ll have similar thoughts: if he’ll feel slighted at the lost opportunity to carry and bring their child into the world.  
  
He looks at Harry’s sleeping form, relaxed and uncaring, his face slack with an easy expression resting on his features. He wishes that he could unscrew the top of his head and check out what’s going on in there, or at the very least, sprinkle in some magic seeds that will keep him from resenting himself and his body.

Despite Harry’s earlier admission, Jeff can’t help but notice the uneasiness swirling around in his gut. He hopes that this wasn’t a fleeting thing, and that Harry will still feel the same in the morning. 

***

Lake Tahoe - April 5, 2019-April 8, 2019

The cabin is less of a cabin and more of a...well, a house. 

For starters, it’s huge. The open floor plan gives it the illusion of being larger, but even so, the kitchen and living room are still bigger than the ones in their own home. 

Harry is already swanning about the place like he’s the Lady of the Lake after having dropped his duffel by the front door in pursuit of scoping out the deck and view. 

Jeff follows him out there (because he’d follow Harry anywhere, really) and is instantly blown away. They’re not directly on the water, but they’re high enough up that they can still see it over the treeline. Up here, all of the colors seem richer and more vibrant: the deep evergreen of pines, the inky navy of the water, the slate of the mountains and rocks. 

He touches Harry’s lower back, lets his hand rest in the dip of it. “Not too bad, huh?”

“It’s gorgeous,” Harry breathes. 

“You did good. I’m glad you found this place.”

Harry looks at him over his shoulder, soft and pleased. “We need this. To get away from the house and be somewhere else for a bit.”

Jeff nods. 

After a few minutes, they move back into the cabin to carry their luggage upstairs and into the loft-style bedroom. Jeff opts for leaving his clothes in his suitcase like a normal person, whereas Harry unpacks like he’s moving in permanently, stuffing his things into dresser drawers and hanging his button-downs up in the closet.

“You do realize that we’re only here for the weekend, right?” Jeff asks. 

Harry cuts him a glare, but he’s smiling. “I like to feel cozy and at home.” 

Jeff flops back onto the bed. It’s comfortable and the bedding smells like laundry detergent. All good signs. Harry crawls up after him, settling himself along Jeff’s side. 

“Would it be lame to take a nap on our vacation?” 

Jeff snorts. “Probably. But we did just drive for almost nine hours.”

When Harry sighs, Jeff can feel it puff over his collar bone. “Just a quick one, then. We’ll go down to the water when we wake up.”

“Want me to set an alarm?”

“Yeah, do like, thirty minutes. No—forty-five.”

Jeff laughs softly and does as requested before setting his phone on the bedside table. They’re both asleep in no time at all.

*

The restaurant they find themselves at is crowded and cozy, in a good way. They get seated at a table tucked in the corner, away from all of the busyness and hubbub, where they can hear each other relatively well as they argue over which appetizer to order. 

“I just think the flatbread sounds better,” Harry says primly.

“Yeah, but this is a brewing place. The pretzels have _ beer fondue_. They’re probably amazing.”

Harry wrinkles his nose but his mouth betrays him, twisting up into a little smile. “_Man food_. Take something already delicious and add beer to it just because.”

Their server walks over then, penpad in hand. Jeff has already been prepared to concede and order Harry the ricotta and peach flatbread that he seems to want so much, but before he can say anything, Harry puts in an order for the soft pretzels with a sly glance and a wink at Jeff. 

As it turns out, Harry eats more of their appetizer than Jeff does. He dunks a bit of pretzel in the beer cheese tentatively, not trying at all to keep the contempt off his face, only to take a bite and look like he’s seen the second coming. 

“Shit,” he says through a mouthful. “It’s really good.”

Jeff smugly puffs out his chest a bit. “See? I have good ideas every now and again.”

Harry’s so tickled by the fondue that he orders an actual beer to drink—something dark and claiming to be caramel and chocolate flavored—that he only has one sip of before smacking hips lips and shaking his head, making Jeff snort into his own lager. 

The rest of dinner is uneventful. Harry orders baked mac and cheese with extra bacon (“Excellent choice. Did you just turn twelve?” Jeff asks, delighted by Harry’s joking scowl) and Jeff gets the fish tacos. They chat about everything and nothing. This easy back-and-forth has been absent a lot recently, but it feels like slipping on a favorite pair of soft, wash-worn jeans that fit perfectly no matter what. 

They don’t need to do the Extreme Romance stuff that used to feel so important and necessary at the very beginning of their relationship: no footsie under the table or holding hands while they eat, which is actually just a giant pain in the ass, trying to eat with one arm available. They’ve grown out of those things. They know each other; the familiarity of being with someone for so long means being able to share that same type of intimacy with just a certain look or a smile. 

Harry opens a bottle of wine when they get back to the cabin—something so dark red that it looks nearly black. Not Jeff’s favorite, but he’ll drink it simply because Harry likes it and it never fails to get him feeling happy and loose. 

There’s no TV in the cabin, but there is a sound system. So Jeff connects his phone and puts his music on shuffle, setting the volume low but just loud enough that it can be heard under their conversation. Simon and Garfunkel, The Cars, Tom Petty, Led Zeppelin. And a few songs that have found their way into the mix that are surely Harry’s handiwork: stuff by Mariah Carey and The B-52’s and Madonna. 

The couch in the main living space is wide and plush, allowing them to comfortably tangle themselves together on it, giggling like schoolgirls over absolutely nothing. Harry’s wineglass is still being held by precariously loose fingers, his cheeks a deep pink and showing just how drunk he is after drinking half of the bottle of pinot noir. Jeff is feeling quite similar, actually—veins filled with fizzy water, warm and bright. But he still has the presence of mind to take Harry’s glass from him and place it on the coffee table with a less-than-delicate clink. 

“Don’t want you to spill it everywhere,” Jeff says into the crook of Harry’s neck. 

Harry wiggles a bit from his spot mostly under him, one of his legs coming up to wrap around the back of Jeff’s calf. “Wasn’t gonna spill it.” His voice is pitched half an octave lower than usual, one of the many side effects of drinking wine, but it does nothing to hide the bit of good-natured petulance in his tone. 

Jeff fits his mouth over the soft bit of skin under Harry’s ear because it’s warm and right there, and is rewarded when Harry makes a happy sound in response. 

They could take things to bed. Jeff could rally and be up for it, if he really wanted. But he’s content just like this, touching just for the sake of touching, sharing space and body heat. One look at Harry’s serene face, with his closed eyes and a pleased tilt to his mouth, and Jeff wants nothing more than to keep the air of calm and quiet intact. 

If they fall asleep on the couch and make a mess of both of their backs? Well. That’s okay too. 

*

Hiking the next day doesn’t exactly go as planned. 

About a half hour into it, Harry trips and twists his ankle. 

“Those tree roots really jump out of nowhere, huh?” Jeff jokes. But Harry starts to really grimace despite his insistence that he’s fine.

“It’s not a sprain. I just have to walk it off,” he assures, directly contradicted by his obvious limp. 

So they cut their adventure short and head down to the beach where the water is still too cold to go in. Harry had the foresight to pack a blanket and a small lunch that was meant for the trail, but they eat it on the shore instead, both content to watch the gentle motions of the waves and the clouds as they pass by. 

Even though Harry meticulously planned the details of their mini vacation, they agreed that it would be best to keep their schedule as open as possible. No strict itinerary or concrete timetables. Which is why they spend the evening holed up in the cabin, portable DVD player balanced on Harry’s knees in bed, watching _Goodfellas_. It isn’t uncommon from what they do at home when they both have the night off, but it feels different doing it here. 

Harry still quotes lines of dialogue as they happen, because he’s seen the movie approximately nine-hundred times already, and interrupts with random facts about the actors. He wiggles around and jostles the screen, always readjusting to get comfortable. And he sticks his icy toes under Jeff’s legs and makes him wince. 

“Sorry,” Harry whispers over the tinny sound of gunfire coming from the speakers, even though Jeff knows he’s not sorry at all. 

Jeff doesn’t move, though. He endures the temporary chill and the occasional twitch of Harry’s foot, because eventually everything is warm again and that’s the sort of thing you do for the person you love.

*

It seems like the blink of an eye and their trip is already coming to an end. 

“Do you think we did enough?” Harry asks over breakfast. French toast for him, omelette for Jeff, the buzz of chatter and clinking silverware all around them in the hole-in-the-wall place they found by accident. 

Jeff swallows his bite of food. “Yeah? I mean, I think so.”

The point of the trip wasn’t to load it up with endless activities. It was supposed to be relaxing. A nice little weekend getaway, which he thinks was done successfully. They certainly caught up on their missed sleep. 

“I just wanted to make sure that like. We didn’t just waste a bunch of money.” Harry shrugs. 

Jeff eyes him across the table. He has a bit of powdered sugar on the corner of his mouth. “I don’t think it was a waste. I had a great time. I’m _ having _ a great time. Even though you keep eating all of my homefries—_get _ out of there, you _ thief_.”

Harry pulls the potato in question off of his fork with his teeth, chewing obnoxiously like the little brat he is. 

Something settles in Jeff’s chest, like the tight bindings of grief and anxiety have finally started to unwind a bit. He can breathe easier. He’s _ happy_. He likes seeing Harry like this: relaxed and carefree, loose with his movements, his eyes soft and his face lacking the harshness that previously occupied it. 

They spend the rest of the day walking around the area window shopping. They also do some actual shopping, to pick out souvenirs and small gifts for both of their parents and Jeff’s nephews. 

Back at the cabin, Jeff makes them a light lunch, grilling up some chicken and throwing together a quick salad. After, their unmade bed calls to them like a siren. Maybe an effect of getting so much more sleep is making them more likely to nap whenever they can. Either way, Jeff isn’t going to complain. He’s not particularly tired, so he only dozes on and off, whereas Harry is out like a light as soon as his head lands on the pillow. 

Later, they spend some time outside on the deck, clutching mugs of warm tea while they sit back in a pair of adirondack chairs and watch the sun go down. 

With the light gone from the sky, the air adopts a subtle chill. Instead of pulling on sweatshirts or retreating inside for the safety of blankets, Harry suggests they make use of the hot tub they haven’t opened once yet. 

“Is it even on?” Jeff asks.

“The host left a sheet about it in the kitchen. Lemme go check.”

In the interim, Jeff ducks into the bathroom to collect some towels and brings them back out to the deck. 

Neither of them packed a bathing suit, so after Harry successfully gets things working, they strip down to their underwear and hop in. 

They simply soak for a bit, letting the hot water work their muscles into softened putty. That is, until Harry gets that little glint in his eye and pushes himself over to Jeff’s side of the tub to climb onto his lap, draping his arms loosely around Jeff’s shoulders before he parts his lips for a warm kiss. 

Jeff holds him around his waist, his fingers clutching guilelessly at his wet skin when Harry starts to grind down against him. Everything happens very quickly, but at the same time, achingly slow. They kiss and kiss and kiss, luxuriating in the feel of one another. No rush, but with an urgency that’s lighting both of them up from within. Jeff slips his hand under the waistband of Harry’s underwear, only for Harry to do him one better: flinging them onto the deck so there’s only one layer keeping them from being fully skin-to-skin. 

“Wait,” Jeff says, nearly breathless. He swallows as Harry nips gently at his neck. “Wait. We—let’s go inside.” Because as lovely as it is outside, he’d rather not get a bug bite in an unfortunate place or have a wild animal catch him with his dick out. 

They just barely make it to the bedroom. In the doorway, Harry practically starts to climb him, gently shoving him up against the wall and hooking a leg around his waist, assaulting his neck with tongue and teeth. Jeff gets just enough space between them to lift Harry by the backs of his thighs and walk the few short steps to the bed. 

He lowers himself so that he’s wedged between Harry’s parted legs, pressing them together, front to front. Harry rolls into it, whining when Jeff nips at his barely-there earlobe, digging his fingers into Jeff’s back as their groins meet. 

It’s a whirlwind of heavy breathing and wild limbs as they scramble for purchase, no time for sensual touching or teasing. Harry lobs the bottle of lube at Jeff and nearly hits him in the face with it, but Jeff doesn’t waste a moment as he quickly wets his fingers and works on opening Harry up. 

He’s tight. Maybe it’s because it’s been so long, or his brain is simply tricking him into thinking so. Either way, Jeff groans when he feels Harry clenching on his finger, hot and perfect around his knuckle, soft and giving when he presses the pad against his insides. One turns quickly into two when Harry starts to whine impatiently. Jeff does his best to scissor his fingers, catching brief glances of the slick, shadowy space where he’s making room for himself in Harry’s body. 

“I’m good,” Harry says, hips tilting a bit, as Jeff is fucking him with three fingers a few moments later. 

Jeff wastes no time getting himself ready, hesitating for the briefest second while he opens a condom and rolls it down the length of his dick. It’s just that he wants to be close to Harry again without the extra weighted connotation of having sex without one: no stressing over fertility or if the angle is right or trying to successfully conceive. This is for them, because they want to and it feels good. Nothing more, nothing less. 

If Harry notices anything amiss, Jeff in between his legs and lining himself up, he doesn’t show it on his face. He simply touches Jeff’s waist with one hand and his hip with the other, encouraging him forward silently, lower lip caught between his teeth. 

Pushing into him again—_finally_—feels like stepping off the edge of a cliff in the best way. It takes a few seconds for his spine to catch up with what’s happening, this electric jolt up his spine that makes him shiver as he bottoms out. 

Harry’s head is tipped back, throat bared. Jeff can see all of the little marks where he nicked himself shaving, and it’s probably just the feel-good chemicals that are currently pickling his brain, but he thinks that even Harry’s razor burn is beautiful. 

Jeff’s first few thrusts are shaky at best; he simultaneously feels wildly out of practice and like he’s riding a bike for the first time in years. Muscle memory is taking over but he’s still trying to make it good. He wants Harry to feel it and remember how great things can be between them. 

It takes a few minutes, but they work out a rhythm that has Jeff pushing forward every time Harry pushes his hips down to meet him. The resulting impact is loud even over their labored breathing, the steady slap of skin-on-skin. Between the visual of Harry writhing around while Jeff fucks him for the first time in months, and feeling Harry tense up around him when he bumps up against his prostate, the audio is just a bonus. 

Fingers settle against the back of Jeff’s neck like a tree taking root as Harry pulls Jeff down for a kiss. Both of their mouths stay mostly open, passing heat back and forth in the form of gasps and swipes of tongue. They feel like one body. One set of lungs. One heart. 

“Wanna feel you,” Harry sighs against Jeff’s chin, fragmented by tiny hitches in his breathing. 

Jeff puts some more force behind the slam of his hips and is rewarded by Harry’s knees hitching further up his sides. But after a groan that sounds torn out of him, Harry recovers enough to say, “Bare. Wanna feel you bare.”

If Jeff were on a rollercoaster, it would be like getting almost to the top of the first hill only for the mechanical clicking to stop right before the summit. He falters, pulling out too far and too quickly, his dick suddenly bobbing under its own weight in open air as Harry winces. 

Jeff immediately moves to soothe him, rubbing at his lower belly, casting a cautious glance at his face. 

Harry’s cheeks are hecticly flushed, his hair in disarray and sticking up everywhere. He meets Jeff’s eyes, urging him back down with heels in his lower back. His eyelids flutter for a moment, biting his lip, and before Jeff can even begin to form a question, Harry continues, “Never mind. Just—forget I said anything.”

Under more normal circumstances, Jeff wouldn’t let it go that easily. He’d make Harry explain himself, and let him know that Jeff will always be a willing audience. But Jeff has a suspicion right now that’s trying to bury itself somewhere between his ribs, sharp and jagged, and he’d rather ignore it than give it a voice. So he fits himself back into Harry’s body and picks up where he left off. 

Most of the magic from earlier has been scrubbed clean off. Now they’re just two people who are sweaty and panting and riding on the fiery synapses of pleasure chemicals. 

Harry is keeping his eyes closed now, biting his lip, trying to stay quiet in a way he never does. This isn’t like the other time, when they lost the first baby. Harry suddenly feels far away, like he’s retreating back into himself and leaving Jeff behind. Jeff tries to pull out again, to ask if he’s okay, but Harry urges him on with heels digging sharply into his lower back. _ No, keep going. Wanna feel it_. 

So Jeff shakes off his apprehension like a horse shakes off a fly. It keeps nagging at him, these little pinpricks of doubt, but Harry’s voice in his ear brings him back to the task at hand. Autopilot takes over; he doesn’t think about pumping his hips or thumbing over one of Harry’s nipples to watch him arch and squirm, he just does it and lets the good feeling of how tight and warm and wet Harry is soothe him like a balm. 

“Are you close?” Jeff asks, because Harry is twitching like he’s right on the edge. 

Harry’s answer is a loud gasp. It’s all the incentive Jeff needs to push any negativity out of his mind and double-down his efforts. They both pant harshly as he starts to rabbit his hips, aiming for the spot that makes Harry choke on his breath and arch his back like he’s being pulled towards the ceiling by a string attached to his ribs. 

With singular focus, Jeff makes sure that Harry comes first—surprisingly quiet and subdued, shaking with his eyes shut tightly. Jeff is quick to follow, spilling into the condom and vehemently ignoring what it means, Harry’s request still ricocheting around in his skull.

They lie side-by-side on their backs, catching their breath for minutes that seem to stretch on indefinitely. 

Jeff isn’t sure what to say, or if he should even say anything at all. He doesn’t want a fight, but he can sense the restless energy oozing out of Harry’s pores. Reluctantly, he pushes himself up and out of bed and heads to the bathroom. He’s at the sink washing his hands when he hears Harry speak behind him. 

"So. Can we talk?"

He turns and sees that Harry is sitting up now too, perched on the edge of the bed with the sheets draped over his lap to cover himself haphazardly. 

"About what?" Jeff asks lightly. 

A brief flash of confusion passes across Harry’s face before it transforms into something harsher, his jaw set.

“About what _ just _happened. About you…” Harry trails off, his eyes darting to the carpet. 

Drying his hands with a towel, Jeff lets Harry work through whatever he was going to say. He has about fifty responses of his own loaded and ready to go. 

Except Harry surprises him when he says, “I didn’t mean to scare you, or whatever. I just thought...I dunno. Forget it.” He pulls the sheet further up his body and wraps it around himself, suddenly looking very small. 

Jeff tries to salvage the rapidly deteriorating good mood. Even though they’ve been dancing around the words, he comes right out with it. “I wasn’t sure if we could or not. Use a condom, I mean. I just wanted to be safe.” He knows he’s hit the nail right on the head because Harry’s face stays carefully blank. 

“Safe,” Harry echoes. 

“Yeah, safe. I don’t wanna do anything that might hurt you. Or like, the whole process.”

His voice finally starting to waver a bit, Harry says, “The whole reason we did IVF is that I can’t get pregnant, Jeff.”

“Then why’d you ask me to take the condom off? Because it kinda seemed like that was what you were after.”

Harry’s mouth snaps shut. Jeff lingers in the bathroom for a bit longer, taking a deep lungful of air to recenter himself. He’s almost afraid to step over the threshold, knowing he'll officially be in a warzone if he goes back into the bedroom. Hesitantly, he does, walking back over to the bed and taking a seat.

Quietly, he asks, "Isn't it a little soon?"

Harry shakes his head. "The doctor said six weeks. It's been _four months_."

"I didn't mean that type of soon. Clinical soon. I meant, like. For you. For _us_."

Harry squares his shoulders, sitting up taller. “I'm ready. I—I really want to try again...don’t you?"

Jeff opens and closes his mouth, like his words have dried up in the desert. He isn't ready. Not by a long shot. He wasn’t ready after they lost the first one, either. While ripping the bandaid off seems like a really good idea in other contexts, he knows from experience that this isn’t the type of thing to jump into. But telling Harry that would mean putting all his cards on the table: cards that Harry isn't going to like. He can't do that. Not right now, when they've been having such a nice time. 

He wants to hit the rewind button and go back to twenty minutes ago, before Harry said anything. Before they started down the same path that only seems to lead them to fighting and tears.

"I...don't know."

Harry stands and the sheet pools around his feet. Jeff can't even bring himself to enjoy the sight of his post-coital nakedness, instead turning his gaze away out of politeness or shame—he can’t tell. 

"What do you mean _you don’t know_? What—what’s that supposed to mean?”

"It means that I don’t know. I don’t know if I want to try again right now." 

Harry laughs, short and humorless. "You're kidding."

Jeff shrugs. "I'm not. And I don't know what you want me to say to you right now."

"I want you to be honest with me." Harry’s started pacing, running his fingers through his hair restlessly.

"I _ am _being honest. I’ve been nothing but honest with you. I’m telling you that I just—I think that we should wait. Take some more time for ourselves. You said it yourself that you wanted to start looking into adopting.” 

Harry’s admission feels very far away at the moment, like something Jeff imagined himself to fill the holes in their steadily sinking ship. They haven’t spoken about it since then: another thing put on the backburner to be ignored indefinitely. Jeff still isn’t sure how he feels about the concept. Above all, it’s logical and practical, but his insistence felt like it was trying to convince them both. At the reminder, Harry looks even more stricken. 

"So you don’t want to do this. At all. You don’t want us to have a baby of our own."

"Jesus, Harry. Don't be thick on purpose. You know that's not what I mean."

Harry stops and stares at Jeff head on, arms crossed tightly across his chest. "Fine. So you just want to give up and move on to something else."

"It's not _ giving up_. We've—we've already lost two and—" Jeff stops himself, breathes for a long moment. "We've already lost two and I don't think it's fair to keep hurting ourselves."

With wide, frantic eyes, Harry’s voice starts to rise in pitch and volume. "You're not the one who did it, Jeff. _Your _body isn't the one responsible—"

"They were mine too!” Jeff practically gasps, standing up without realizing. Now him and Harry are face to face. “They were just as much mine as they were yours! And it fucking killed me, both times, when you miscarried." 

Harry’s face cracks for a brief moment, his lashes fluttering, mouth pulled into a tight line. They’re never really talked about the way Jeff broke down. It happened so quickly that it maybe wasn’t necessary, but Harry still saw it. "So it's my fault—"

"It's no one's fault! That's what I’m saying! That it's no one's fault but it keeps happening, and it very well could happen again. Don’t you want to try and avoid that?"

Jeff is tired. So, so tired. But there’s a hysterical edge creeping up his spine too. The conversation feels a bit ridiculous as neither of them have a stitch of clothing on and Harry is nearly on the verge of tears, a sight that Jeff hasn’t seen in almost three weeks. 

“You don’t want this. I knew you didn’t,” Harry shouts.

“Jesus, Harry. Just because you’re upset doesn’t mean you can just say whatever you want. Of course I want us to have a baby. There is nothing I want _ more _ than for us to have a baby together. But I also _ really _think it’s time that we start considering other options.” Harry opens his mouth to interrupt him, but Jeff cuts him off and continues. “We can’t keep doing this. We can’t.” 

Harry’s face goes shuttered. Jeff watches the fight drain out of him, posture changing to a slouch as he asks in a near-whisper, “You don’t think I can do it?” 

Jeff inhales and lets it out slowly, trying to curb his frustration. “That’s—that isn’t the point I’m making here.” 

“Well then what _ is _the point you’re trying to make?” Harry’s expression is mulish but wobbly around the edges. 

“Harry...the doctors. They don’t know why it keeps happening. But it does. Maybe it’s just...maybe it’s not meant to happen this way. Maybe we need to try something else. Like—” 

Harry looks painfully resigned. Jeff can’t make himself finish. He’s not going to push the adoption thing any further. And he wouldn’t dare bring up surrogacy or shelving Harry’s eggs entirely and using someone else’s. Now certainly isn’t the time.

But while Jeff might be at a loss for words, Harry won’t let it go. 

“I just think,” Harry exhales shakily. “If you just let me try one more time, I can do it.” He sounds like he’s not just trying to convince Jeff, but that he’s also trying to convince himself. Jeff shakes his head, but he’s not saying no. Like Harry can sense Jeff’s withering resolve, he steps closer until they’re chest to chest. 

“Please. Please just let me try. One last time,” he whispers. Jeff leans forward so their foreheads are touching and closes his eyes, settling his hands on either side of Harry’s soft waist. The simple touch is enough to have his anger dissolving. 

“I don’t want to give you an ultimatum, H. But we can try this. One more time. That’s it. And if...if it doesn’t work, then we take a break and reconsider our options.” Harry’s hands are trembling where they’re cupping Jeff’s face. His chin is quilted. When he whimpers, Jeff’s heart clenches painfully.

“Okay,” Harry agrees, voice thick. “Okay. I can deal with that.” 

Jeff lets go of Harry’s waist in favor of squeezing his wrists gently, pulling one of them away so he can kiss his palm. Harry puts his face in Jeff’s neck and they tangle together in a mess of limbs and bare skin. 

Rubbing his back with gentle sweeps, Jeff talks softly into Harry’s ear. “I love you. You know that, right? You’re my best thing. I gotta keep _ you _safe.” Harry simply nods. 

They stay like that for a few minutes, shifting from side to side almost imperceptibly, clinging to each other. It’s not until after they’ve gotten cleaned up and under the covers that Harry kisses Jeff and—right against his lips—he says, “I love you, too. More than anything.” 

*

Eventually, after their sweat has cooled and dried, Harry mutters something about taking a shower and putters off into the bathroom. Jeff shrugs the blankets further up his body and shuts his eyes, fighting against his blooming tiredness with a vow that once Harry is finished, he’ll take a shower of his own. Early tomorrow morning, they have a very long drive ahead of them. 

He must doze off for a bit because when he checks his phone on the nightstand, it’s been just over a half hour since Harry went into the bathroom. The shower is still running, but no other discernible sounds are coming from inside, just the static-like hum of water hitting tile. 

Jeff gives him a few more minutes; sometimes Harry likes to stand under the spray for a while and let the warm water loosen the muscles in his back, as it bothers him more often than not. However, after ten more minutes of continued silence, Jeff gets up to knock on the bathroom door.

“Babe? You okay?” he asks.

He knocks again and still nothing. 

Jeff tries to remember if he heard a crash or thud, any type of sign that Harry could have fallen. Or maybe he can’t hear him and is lost in his own head like he has a tendency to do. 

The door is unlocked so Jeff pushes it open and is confused when he doesn’t immediately see Harry anywhere. But a closer look reveals him behind the steamy glass shower door: a pink-skinned lump tucked in the corner of the stall, his head lolling on his shoulders, limbs sprawled carelessly. 

Jeff rushes over in a panic, instantly getting himself drenched as he carefully takes Harry’s face in between his hands and urges him to look at him, except Harry’s eyes—when they reach him—are unfocused and glassy. 

“Harry? Babe? What’s the matter?” The startle in Jeff’s voice is harsh in his own ears. 

Harry’s hair is stuck to his forehead, being matted down by rivulets of water from the showerhead; Jeff pushes most of it back with clumsy fingers, counting the seconds as Harry struggles to respond. 

His voice is syrupy and calm and _ so _incongruent with the entire situation as he says, “M’fine. Good. Don’t need to worry.”

Jeff balks. The minor bit of control he had over his collected facade starts to slip. “Did you slip? Are you—hurt? Anywhere? Look at me, Harry. Are you okay?”

One of Harry’s long fingers presses against Jeff’s lips. “Shh,” he says with a wince. “So loud.”

He could be concussed, Jeff reasons. When he was asleep earlier, Harry probably fell and bumped his head and Jeff just didn’t hear it. 

After making sure Harry is sufficiently propped up against the shower wall and isn’t at any risk of...drowning or slipping again or any other potentially disastrous things, Jeff sets about turning the water off and getting a towel. But in turning around and facing the vanity, something on the counter stops him dead in his tracks. 

An orange pill bottle is sitting next to the sink, lid off, tipped on its side with some of its contents spilling out carelessly. Like whoever opened it was in a hurry or too careless to clean up. A someone who is currently high as a kite and totally unaware that they’re soaking wet and sitting bare-assed on the floor of a shower that isn’t theirs. 

Swallowing down a spark of anger, Jeff picks up the bottle and scans the label. He can’t help the tiny laugh that escapes him; at least Harry decided to abuse his own prescription for Vicodin, like some sort of morbidly hilarious silver lining. 

When he looks at Harry again, it isn’t with the same rising panic as before. That’s long gone. What’s simmering under the surface of his skin now is something different, something prickly and elusive, a new type of frustration that pops up in flashes. 

His voice is unfamiliar and snide when he asks, “Are you happy with yourself?”

Not expecting a response, Jeff dutifully starts towelling Harry off, because he’s started to shiver a bit, but there’s no tenderness in his movements. It’s entirely utilitarian, like a doctor. 

Harry does speak, though. After a long stretch of silence, like no time has passed at all, he says, “You’re mad.” Not a question, but an observation. 

There’s no point in lying. Jeff nods. He doesn’t trust himself to say anything out of fear of screaming. 

Quickly, he finishes getting Harry dry and manages to get him upright and standing. Jeff pulls him back into the bedroom like one might lead an uncooperative child, brusque and agitated. He tosses him some clean clothes and doesn’t bother to see if he puts them on, but instead slips on a pair of boxers and goes out on the deck. 

The cool night air helps marginally, lighting up his skin with goosebumps that verge on uncomfortable. It’s grounding, in a way, like digging your fingernails into your palms, which he does without realizing until he nearly splits skin. 

A light breeze makes the leaves rustle together with a gentle sort of scratching noise that you really have to listen for. Up here that’s easy, with no distractions, no road sounds. Distantly, he can hear an owl hooting. 

He stands there for a long while, trying to keep his mind as blank as possible. He wants an explanation—a really fucking good one—but he doesn’t want to have a discussion if he’s going to be clouded by anger. Minutes stretch on while the night sky hovers above him, dark and speckled with stars that are just barely visible through the cloud cover, like little milky pinholes. 

He hesitates a few times, reaching for the handle of the sliding door before turning back around and pacing along the wood of the deck. He doesn’t want to go back too early, make it seem like he’s giving in too easy. But he also doesn’t want to wait too long in case Harry does something else. 

Finally Jeff relents, dragging his feet as he makes his way back to the bedroom where a tangible unsettledness is thick like fog. 

Harry is sitting against the headboard, knees tucked up towards his chest, arms draped loosely around them with his head resting on his knees. He looks up when Jeff enters, shame written all over his face, an apology hanging in the gap between his lips where his mouth is parted. 

Jeff raises a hand to stop him before he can even start. He has things he wants to say first. 

“I want you to listen to me and not interrupt. This is the first and last time I’m ever going to say this to you: if you ever do something like that again, I’ll send you somewhere. I don’t care if it doesn’t warrant a full-blown rehab program, you’re going. I know you probably think you know what you’re doing because of your job, but that’s not an excuse or a free pass. It was reckless and idiotic. I fell asleep while you were in there. What if you really did fall or bump your head? Who’s to say what could have happened? You’re lucky that nothing _ did _happen.”

Jeff lets the words tumble out of him from some untapped reservoir of anxiety, spewing like water from a cracked glass. Harry takes it all silently with unshed tears in his eyes.

“I’m calling your mother tomorrow. I won’t bother her now because it’s late, even though I _should_ and let you deal with the wrath,” Jeff continues. “I’m flushing the rest of them and then I’m going to bed. I’ll be out on the couch. Goodnight.”

By the time Jeff is finished he’s exhausted, despite the whole process only taking a couple of minutes. A simple press of the toilet handle and stopping to grab his pillow without sparing Harry another glance. Just like that. Done. Now he’s stretched out on the couch with a throw blanket draped over himself, feeling the crushing enormity of what just happened, like he wasn’t actually living through it in real time, and everything is finally catching up to him. He rubs at his eyes, red and itchy as they are, and hopes that sleep will take pity on him and knock him out. Only the punch never comes and he lies there awake until morning starts to creep in like a cruel reminder.

*

The drive home is a far cry from their initial journey, which was filled with laughter and music and Harry almost snorting Pepsi out of his nose when a bug flew in through the window and Jeff screamed at a pitch previously only heard by dogs. 

The radio is off. Jeff has both hands on the wheel and is focused solely on the road. Harry hasn’t said a single word since Jeff dragged him out of the shower the night before. 

He looks as bad as Jeff does: purple bags under his eyes, messy stubble along his jaw, his hair a complete mess. If Jeff were to guess, he’d assume that Harry didn’t sleep much either. 

They stop for gas and food, no communication necessary as Harry grabs himself a water and a bag of chips and pays for them himself, while Jeff rings up a premade turkey sandwich and a bottle of Sprite. Then they’re back in the car, oppressive silence filling up all the space between them. 

Three hours turns into six. Seven turns into eight when they hit traffic. Nine is fast approaching when Jeff finally speaks, his voice scratchy from disuse. 

“Can I ask you something?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Jeff catches Harry start to pick at the skin around his nails. “Yeah,” he says tentatively.

“Was that the only time?”

Harry swallows. He reaches forward and flips open the AC vent that he had shut earlier, adjusting it so the breeze is hitting him. “No.” The single word lands like a dart.

Nodding, Jeff tries to keep himself calm, even though he can feel his stomach start to twist and knot. “Okay. That’s, uhm. When? How?”

“It was after the whole...thing. You saw me, I—I barely took any during. But I dunno. Then things got hard. And they helped a little. Made everything feel less shitty.”

A car pulls out in front of them and makes Jeff have to step on the brakes a bit. He can’t tell if it’s that or what Harry just said that has his heart beating faster, erratic. 

He thinks back on the last handful of weeks, how Harry’s mood has improved greatly. How he’s been more willing to leave the house and do things, instead of staying holed up inside. His smile has been back.

But there are other things, too, that Jeff didn’t dwell on at the time, because he didn’t think they were important details: Harry napping at odd hours during the day, the heaviness of his eyes when he’d look at Jeff sometimes, like he was lost in thought as he swayed on his feet. Jeff attributed all of those things to the general trauma of what had happened—being over-tired and not quite all there. Except now he knows, and he wishes he could have figured things out sooner. 

Jeff clears his throat. “You, uh. You really scared me, in the shower. I was mad, _ really _mad. But mostly scared.”

It feels good to say it, to give voice to the things that nag at him but he always brushes aside. He wants Harry to know, partly so he understands the severity of what he’s done, but also simply because Jeff wants his partner to _ hear him_.

Before they left the cabin earlier, Jeff called Anne and explained the details to her. She was mostly silent, letting Jeff finish the entire chain of events, before she quietly told him how sorry she is that he had to be put through that type of stress and then requested to speak with Harry. So Jeff had passed him the phone and left the room to give them some privacy. 

They only spoke for about a half hour or so. There was no yelling on Harry’s end, just silence coming from the other side of the wall. Jeff has no idea what was said between them. When Harry finally emerged, he’d clearly tried to clean himself up a bit, but couldn’t hide his bloodshot, red-rimmed eyes and the pink tip of his nose that he gets every time he cries. 

Now, Harry turns in his seat to face Jeff. “I’m sorry. I know that doesn’t even begin to cover it, but I am.” 

They’re still on the highway and this isn’t exactly the place to be having this conversation, but it’ll have to do. 

Jeff so badly wants to retreat to his own habits, say ‘it’s fine!’ and move on as quickly as possible. Still, he finds himself saying, “I know you’re sorry. I’m sorry, too. That it happened. That I had to find out the way I did. But I’m glad that I caught it because I swear to God, it could’ve been so much worse. And I don’t know what I would’ve done, if something happened to you. Who’s to say that you would’ve stopped when you finished the bottle? What if you found a way to get more at work, and it just snowballed from there? You should know better.”

“_I know_. And I’m not gonna ask what I can do to make it up to you. Or, like, how I can make it better. I _ can’t_, okay? All I can do is tell you how _ sorry _I am, I—” he cuts himself off, sniffing hard, as he’s started to cry. “I wasn’t thinking. I was so—so blinded by my own self-pity that I ignored how much you were hurting too. And that’s not right.”

Jeff’s grip on the steering wheel tightens and he can only nod. Tears of his own start to make his eyes sting. He must stay quiet for too long because Harry continues.

“I’d understand if you want an out. I’ll—I can move out for a bit. My mom is fucking fuming but I can stay with her.” He sounds steely and resigned, like he’s given this some thought. It instantly makes Jeff nauseous.

“_What_?” Jeff’s head is on a swivel, looking bewildered at Harry while simultaneously trying to focus on the road. “Who—_when _ did I say anything about that?”

“I just thought—”

“That’s one of your main problems, Harry. Making assumptions, putting words in my mouth. I don’t want you to _ move out_. Don’t be ridiculous.”

Harry absorbs that for a moment, adjusting so he’s facing forward again, arms curled protectively around his own waist. Jeff reaches across the console to touch his forearm, squeezing gently. 

“Don’t run away. Don’t run away from all of this...from me. We both have some shit we need to work through. But I wanna do it together, because I love you, okay?’ 

With a slow, shaking hand, Harry rests his palm over Jeff’s knuckles. “Okay,” he says. “I love you too. _ So much_. And I’m so, _ so _sorry.”

They’ve reached the final stretch of highway, only about twenty minutes before they pull back into their driveway. It’s been a long journey, in more ways than one. And even though they’re going back home, they still have a long road ahead of them. Jeff isn’t sure when or if Harry will stop apologizing, for this and other things. 

It really does feel like one step forward and two steps back sometimes, rehashing old arguments and feelings and all sorts of things that were resolved but not really. They’re two people with flaws and weaknesses and things that make them human, even if those things can hurt the people they care about most. Call it cliche, but Jeff knows they’ll figure it out. 

At the end of the day, if you really want something, all you can do is try. 


	4. Ready, Set, Bake!

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - November 11, 2019

In the grand scheme of things, seven weeks isn’t a very long period of time. But when you’re riding the coattails of two failed pregnancies, seven weeks might as well be seven eons. Every single day is spent holding your breath to see if anything changes, whether that be for better or worse. Each one that passes safely is like crossing the finish line of a marathon in first place. 

Even still, things don’t change that much. Harry takes his vitamins. He battles with his stomach most mornings, spending a handful of minutes in the bathroom to vomit, and then he feels relatively okay. Jeff can’t tell because Harry is still noodle-like as ever, but evidently he’s gained almost three pounds since he took the at-home test and discovered two pink lines. 

Things were shaky for a bit after they returned from Tahoe. It seemed like the idea of a baby was going to be shelved indefinitely, no matter the means of getting one. Emails and calls from the fertility clinic were left ignored. Surrogacy wasn’t mentioned. The informational brochures on adoption disappeared. 

Harry was on his absolute best behavior: getting back into a more normal work schedule, going for runs again, and visiting with friends and his mother during his free time, when he otherwise wasn’t occupied with asking Jeff all sorts of questions like ‘What do you want for dinner tonight? Anything you want, I’ll make it’ and ‘That paperwork can wait, right? Come sit with me, I haven’t kissed you in like, an hour’. 

It was dinner with Mitch and Sarah over the summer that kicked Jeff into gear again, when Harry barely put the baby down all evening and looked happy as ever, no traces of his previous anxiety or silent self-flagellation. He looked peaceful, toting little Felix around and talking to him like an adult, pointing out the trickiness of getting cupcakes just right over dessert, which Harry had painstakingly baked earlier that same afternoon. 

A week later, Jeff was casually bringing it up before bed, after having built up the courage to do so, nervous excitement knocking around his ribs. Then a week after that they were sitting in an exam room at the fertility clinic again: a familiar experience. But this time they were armed with new attitudes that have been shaped by everything that’s happened so far, and a sense of _ possibility _hung right around the corner. 

Now things are looking good. They’re both trying to stay positive—not overly so but enough to keep them afloat. 

Harry is currently rummaging through their cabinets, making an absolutely absurd amount of noise as he mutters to himself. 

Jeff observes him casually from his spot at the kitchen table where he’s laid out some documents that he wants to look over before work; he’s going in late because he had a dentist appointment earlier, and his gums are still a bit sore from the rather rough flossing he got. 

Harry traipses down the hall and comes back again after only a few minutes, hands on his hips, brows furrowed. 

“Anything I can help you with?” Jeff asks, looking over the top of the paper he’s reading. 

“Do you know if we have any Tums?”

“We should. Did you check—”

“None in the bathroom. None in the bedside tables. I _ swear _I just bought more, but I can’t remember where I might have put them.”

“I mean, you’ve been popping them like candy,” Jeff reasons. It’s true; Harry must take a handful a day.

“I’ve had really bad heartburn,” Harry says, cheeks blooming pink. “And the progesterone supplements make my stomach upset, if you must know.”

“Ah. I see.” Jeff nods sagely. That explains some things, namely the ridiculous amount of candles that Harry has insisted on having lit near-constantly as of late. And the bottle of Poo-Pourri that magically showed up one day that Jeff initially mistook for perfume before actually reading the bottle. However, it’s none of his business—it’s quite literally _ Harry’s business_—and Jeff likes those boundaries just where they are. 

“I’ll just get some more, I guess. Don’t we need milk too?” Harry asks with a sigh.

“Milk and that salad mix you like. I used the rest of it when I packed my lunch, sorry.” 

From the table under the window, Harry grabs a small notepad and a pen and tosses them at Jeff. “Write down anything else you can think of while I get changed, please and thank you.”

Jeff smiles at the back of his retreating form. Things are good again. Simple. He uncaps the pen and adds a bunch of things to the list that they absolutely do not need, but hopefully Harry will find the humor in. 

***

Los Angeles IVF Clinic - November 20, 2019

Harry won’t look at the ultrasound screen. His t-shirt is pushed up to his ribs, his jeans pushed down just enough to give the technician room to spread the gel all over his belly and lower abdomen. 

Jeff takes his hand when Whitney—a newbie at the office who has ducks on her scrubs—adjusts the wand on Harry’s stomach, tilting and turning it to get the right angle. It never looks like much at first, just a mix of gray and black, shifting slightly like some sort of weird alien pulse. But then things start to become more clear. At the bottom of the screen there’s a sort of distinct shape—not baby-like yet, but something that could definitely grow to resemble a baby. 

Seeing the image crisp up and flutter before his eyes pierces Jeff’s heart like a fish being reeled in on a line. He squeezes around Harry’s palm and says, “Look. It’s okay to look.”

Harry’s reluctant at first, but he lets out a deep sigh of relief when he sees Whitney smiling. When the sound kicks in to reveal a loud whooshing heartbeat, the whole room seems to rip from its foundation and float above the ground. It’s the best noise in the world. 

“Everything is looking good,” Whitney says. Her eyes are fixed on the screen, deciphering things that Jeff himself can’t make out. And then suddenly she blurts, “Oh!” 

All of Jeff’s organs tighten, coil-like. Before he can ask what’s wrong, Harry beats him to it, his voice hard and flat. “What? What’s the matter?”

Whitney smiles. She glances at them but quickly redirects her attention to the black and gray window. “Nothing to worry about. Just…” With a tilt of the wand, the image changes and Whitney smiles even bigger. The whooshing sound changes, like someone has layered the track. “I thought I was seeing that correctly. How do you guys feel about twins?”

Jeff can feel the way his eyes nearly bulge out of his head. He’s only recently started being comfortable with the idea of _ one _ baby—about the chance that they might really have a child at the end of all of this uncertainty. He’s never even entertained the possibility of _ twins_. But now that it’s out there? It’s a revelation that instantly washes over the room like a magic spell, and Jeff can feel the rightness of it in the marrow of his bones.

Harry’s face has adopted a rather startling pallor; he’s gone white as a sheet and started sweating near his temples. His grip around Jeff’s hand tightens. “Is it—uhm. Are you sure?”

“Pretty sure!” Whitney chirps. “See there? That’s baby one, and here...is baby two.” 

Two tiny little splotches, only visible if you’re really looking. Jeff certainly wouldn’t have been able to tell if they weren’t being pointed out to him. “Holy shit,” he says. Laughter starts to bubble up inside of him, coming out first as a quick puff of air before he’s genuinely giggling. 

Harry looks at him in acute horror. “This isn’t funny, Jeffrey. _ Two _?!” 

“Two,” Jeff breathes. “Holy shit. _ Twins_. You—we’re having _ twins_.”

“It’s common with IVF patients. How many embryos did you have implanted?” Whitney says.

“Just one.” Harry keeps squinting at the monitor. 

Whitney nods. “Hm. That happens sometimes too, because of all the fertility medications. A single embryo will split. So you’re looking at identical, if that’s what happened.”

It’s all too much to take in at once. If Jeff wasn’t already sitting down he’d be worried his knees would give out. It’s amazing. _ Incredible_. A phoenix rising from the ashes even stronger than before. He squeezes Harry’s hand, smiling like a complete lunatic. 

“This is crazy,” Jeff says. He can hear the marvel in his own voice, the excitement, the healthy pinch of fear. 

Despite the way his face is still creased with worry, Harry smiles, hesitant and small. “Absolutely bonkers,” he agrees. 

“You’ve got a super uterus now. Should turn you into one of those t-shirt cannons they have at baseball games, except you’d shoot out babies.”

In an instant, Harry’s expression turns flat and unamused. “Do you always have to do that?”

Innocently, Jeff asks, “Do what?”

“Ruin nice moments with your nonsense. Poor Whitney doesn’t want to listen to your horrible similes, and neither do I.”

Jeff shrugs. “Well, it’s a good thing you decided to have kids with me, isn’t it?”

Harry sighs and shoots Whitney an apologetic look. 

The whole office congratulates them after Harry is cleaned up and they’re on their way out, new shiny 4x6 in tow; evidently news of twins travels fast and it gets everyone doubly excited. They’re polite and gracious as they accept all of the well wishes and compliments, walking around on a cloud of elated disbelief.

It isn’t until they’re in the car, doors shut and effectively cutting off the noise from the rest of the outside world, that they _ really _look at each other. 

Harry cracks first, biting his lip to try and hide the way his lips are curving up. “This is good, right?”

“Good? Harry...this is like, the best news we’ve ever gotten.” Jeff really means it, too. He hopes that his sincerity isn’t coming off as something else.

“It’s just...I dunno. A lot? Now there’s more at stake.” 

Jeff hears everything that Harry isn’t saying. Twins mean two times the worry, two times the risks. But they made promises to themselves and each other that they weren’t going to let anxiety run the show this time around. 

“True. But it also means we have more to look forward to. A nice little two-for-one deal, don’t you think?”

Harry mulls this over for a moment, brows furrowed, one hand on his belly. Jeff joins him, reaching across the center console to lay his own hand overtop.

“If you’re happy, I’m happy,” Harry says. 

“I want you to be happy too. On your own, not just because of me.”

“I am,” Harry assures, leaning forward to press their lips together in a quick kiss. “I promise. It just might take me a bit, to wrap my head around things.”

Jeff nods. “Take all the time you need. I’ll be right here.”

***

62 Rosewood Ave - North Tustin - November 28, 2019

If it were just his parents and Harry at the table, Jeff would have no issue unbuttoning his dress slacks and untucking his shirt. As it stands, however, all of his siblings and his brother-in-laws are in attendance, as well as the grandchildren and a few family friends. So Jeff is left to suffer in a prison of his own creation after eating three whole plates of food. 

It’s Thanksgiving: one of the few holidays that are centered around eating, and not only that, but eating as much as possible. His mom made mashed potatoes with ill-advised amounts of butter, milk, and sour cream. Was he supposed to exercise self control and _ not _eat nearly his entire body weight in them? Absolutely not. 

The table has already been cleared in preparation of desserts being brought out, and Jeff is currently debating the merits of elastic waist pants. Next year, he’s coming prepared. 

Harry does not appear to be in the same dilemma, as he already has on a pair of maternity trousers that are still quite big, but were able to be adjusted to fit, hence his bubbly smile while he chats with Allison. 

_ Oh God_. Six different types of pies are laid out on the dining room table. Pumpkin, apple, pecan, blueberry, lemon and chocolate mousse. Jeff’s stomach gurgles a bit like a warning shot. _ Tread carefully_, it says, but he has every intention of ignoring it, damn the consequences.

“We have apple crisp and cookies still in the kitchen, if anyone wants them. I just thought we’d start with these, since they all look so nice,” Shelli says. 

Jeff is already grabbing plates, one for him and one for Harry, eyes locked on the pumpkin pie and the container of ice cream next to it. 

In his peripheral vision he catches sight of Harry shaking his head with a polite smile on his face. Rochelle, one of his mother’s friends, is stood opposite him with a bottle of wine. 

“Are you sure?” Jeff hears Rochelle say. “I’m not much of a wine person myself, but it’s very good. Sweet but not sickly sweet.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, thank you. I’m just, uh, on an alcohol cleanse at the moment. So no drinking for me.” Harry lets out a little laugh. He’s such an awful liar that Jeff almost feels bad for him, grinning as he scoops extra ice cream onto his own plate.

“A cleanse? Oh, bless you. I could never.” The people who are listening to the conversation all chuckle. 

However, Jeff catches his mother giving Harry a shrewd look. Like Anne, she’s too smart for her own good. Jeff brings Harry his plate (pie only, no dairy) and hopes that she lets it go for now.

It isn’t until Jeff has consumed what could be a fatal amount of baked goods that his mom corners him and Harry in the kitchen. For a moment, he has a deja vu-like feeling from when Allison questioned him before the second miscarriage. Thankfully, it’s just the three of them; Harry insisted on doing the washing up and Jeff is there for moral support. 

“I feel like I need to sleep for a week,” Harry says, tapping his sternum and trying to hold back a burp. “Ate way too much.”

“Mom, everything was great, as per usual.” Jeff sees her approach and puts the towel he was using to dry plates on the counter in favor of slinging an arm around her shoulders. 

“I’m glad you boys enjoyed everything. You’re being sent home with leftovers that should last you about a year.”

“Yeah right. At the rate he’s going?” Jeff pauses and points a finger at Harry. “They’ll last a day, tops. He eats pretty much everything in sight lately.”

Harry’s cheeks go bright red, and instead of being playfully affronted, he looks panicked. It clicks, suddenly. Jeff realizes the error of his casual joke. 

Eyebrows raised, Shelli asks, “Oh?”

Jeff stumbles over his words. “Yeah. He—uhm. It’s a—”

“I’m pregnant,” Harry blurts. His eyes are wide like he’s surprised at himself. “We—this round of IVF worked. And...we’re pregnant. Again.”

With a bit of nervous laughter, Jeff says, “Eloquent, babe.” Still under his arm, his mom glances quickly between the two of them, a hesitant smile on her face.

“Oh my God. _ Oh my God _!” she shouts before practically lunging at Harry, excitement etched into all of her features as she wraps him up in the tangle of her arms. 

Jeff told her about the first miscarriage long after it happened; at the time, no one even knew that they were trying. Then, with the second one lost, her and Irving were two of the first people to know. A few days prior to their second try at the fertility clinic, he let her in on what the plan was, but told her that they were trying to not get their hopes up. Now it seems like they have no choice but to celebrate. 

She and Harry sway gently back and forth for a long moment until she steps back and holds him at arm’s length. “I _ knew _ something was up. A _ cleanse_. That was your favorite Riesling that I put out special for you.”

Harry looks a little misty with his glittery eyes and red cheeks. He shrugs, trying to play at casual. “Surprise?”

Shelli kisses him on the forehead before she rounds on Jeff and grabs his face between her hands. “And _ you_. I can’t believe you would keep something like this from your _ own mother_.”

“Sorry, mummy.” Jeff plasters on his best apologetic smile, the one that helped him get away with many bad test grades back in the day. “We were actually gonna wait a bit longer to start letting people know.”

From behind them, Irving asks, “Know what?” He’s standing in the doorway, eyebrows furrowed. “What was all that commotion about?”

Shelli squeezes Jeff’s forearm. “Go on, Jeffrey. Tell your father.” 

*** 

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - December 5, 2019

“Not even a _ single _pound.” Harry pops his head into the bedroom after weighing himself for the second time today on their new bathroom scale. He’s taken to doing it once in the morning and once at night.

Jeff had advised against buying a scale for many reasons, but Harry being near-obsessive about it was at the top of his list. He puts down his phone and gives Harry a once over. 

“You look great. I can’t even tell that you’ve eaten three whole cartons of ice cream this week, or that you ate, not one but _ two, _burgers yesterday.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “It wasn’t ice cream, it was frozen yogurt. They’re two very different things.”

“Whatever. Point is, you look great. Give me a spin so I can see the entire package. There we go—see? Now bring that perky little butt to bed.”

Harry flops down onto the mattress with a sigh, stretching his arms up above his head and pointing his toes, revealing a patch of skin as his t-shirt is pulled up. In addition to the dietary, gastrointestinal, and overall lifestyle changes, the thing Jeff likes the most about Harry being pregnant is how warm he is. According to Harry it’s a totally normal thing (just the other day he informed him “Did you know that basal body temperature elevates when you’re pregnant?” while they were folding laundry). So Jeff rolls onto his side to give himself better access to Harry’s toasty middle, slipping his hands over the lower part of his stomach that’s just started to show the first signs of firming up a bit. 

Each new milestone is a gift without the wrapping paper and bow, simply presented without any fanfare. They’re still afraid of jinxing things (though neither of them will admit it out loud), so they go about their business and keep their reactions mild. 

However, there is one thing that Jeff is planning on celebrating. 

With both pregnancies they lost, neither made it to the second trimester. But Harry will be eleven weeks next Wednesday and Jeff is planning a little something for them. He hasn’t mentioned it to Harry partly because he wants it to be a surprise, but also because Harry hasn’t mentioned anything about the date even though Jeff is certain he’s aware. 

Under his fingertips, Jeff can feel the rise of goosebumps where he’s touching Harry, and he smiles into the top of his head where he smells like fruity shampoo. 

“Your hands are cold,” Harry mumbles, voice a bit muted by the way he’s smushed his face into Jeff’s collar bone.

“My hands are fine. You just run hot. Like one of those heated blankets but way more bony and with chicken legs.”

“Chicken legs? All five pounds of this baby weight has gone directly to my thighs. Not even an ounce to my stomach,” Harry whines. 

Jeff slides a hand out from under Harry’s shirt and moves it down to pinch a soft, fleshy bit of skin halfway between his knee and groin. “Seems pretty normal to me,” Jeff says over the yelp Harry lets out.

“Don’t _ pinch_. I bruise like a peach.”

Jeff snorts. “Princess Peach. That’s your new name.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s like, copyrighted or something.” Harry rolls his head so his chin is digging into Jeff’s sternum a bit; his eyes look extra clear green up close.

“I’ll get you the pink dress and everything.”

Harry’s smile is sly and up to no good. “I already have a pink dress. From Halloween sophomore year. It was a _ big _hit at the frat party I went to.”

“Excuse me?” Jeff blinks, mouth suddenly gone a little dry.

Harry frowns. “Don’t think it’ll fit anymore. It was pretty short.”

Jeff looks at the ceiling, trying to conjure up images of...dirty socks and moldy cheese. _ Anything _but current Harry in a slinky dress with his little fledgling belly and the subtle extra layer of padding that’s found itself on his body lately. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes. “No more talking. Your speaking privileges are revoked for the rest of the night.”

Harry looks unfairly pleased with himself, as if he’s guessed Jeff’s line of thinking. He pouts his lips and does an exaggerated air kiss. “It’s in the closet. I could get it and—”

“_No talking_.” Jeff covers Harry’s mouth with his hand and ignores it when Harry licks his palm. “I need a spray water bottle. Maybe that’ll teach you how to behave. Just douse you every time you say something inappropriate.”

Harry beams at him. His voice is a bit muffled, but Jeff can still make it out as he says, “_God_, you’re such a romantic.”

“And you’re a pest.”

“Seriously though, I don’t understand how my belly really hasn’t grown much yet. I feel like if a random person looks at me, they can’t even tell.” Harry rolls onto his back and peers down at his own front forlornly. 

Jeff’s heart flutters at the thought of Harry wanting people to know. Most days, Jeff wants nothing more than to hold Harry up and shout at anyone who will listen ‘Look! We’re having _ babies _together!’ because he’s so happy and proud. It’s nice knowing that Harry is working his way up to embracing it fully. 

“It’ll happen. There’s two of them in there, so it’s only a matter of time before things get a little cramped and cozy.”

Harry pouts, his bottom lip jutting out dramatically and everything. “I want that _ now_, though. I want the bump this time. A real one.”

A heavy stone lands in Jeff’s gut. He swallows past the sudden dryness of his throat. “You will. You just gotta let your body do its thing. There’s no set timetable. Everyone is different. Besides, in a few months? You’ll probably be begging to have a smaller bump.”

Harry smiles at him and Jeff feels like he can breathe again.

“Are you preemptively calling me huge?” Harry asks. 

“I—no. I’m just saying that with twins, like. You’re a small person to begin with. Two babies, one belly...you know what I mean, don’t look at me like that.” 

“Even after these kids are out, no pink dress for you.” Harry pokes Jeff in the middle of his chest for emphasis.

“What? Hey—wait a second. You’re lovely. The most _ beautiful _human being I’ve ever laid eyes on! Don’t be mean to me,” Jeff pleads dramatically, wrapping his arms around Harry’s waist and squeezing (gently, of course).

Harry giggles, settling into the embrace without a fight. “If you make me some chocolate chip pancakes I might reconsider.”

“Done.”

“With extra chocolate chips.”

“Yes, your highness.” 

The truth is, Jeff would agree to almost anything if it’ll make Harry happy. 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - December 11, 2019

Little round chocolate cake from the supermarket? Check. Candles for ambience? Check. Lighter to light said candles? Jeff is...still looking. Harry has a tendency to never put things away in the same spot twice, so Jeff has to think outside the box sometimes. He’s found oven mitts in the microwave before, and he’s determined to find a lighter or a least some matches before Harry gets home from work. 

It’s Wednesday, which means they’ve safely made it into uncharted territory; this is the longest Harry has ever been pregnant, even if it’s just a single day past the mark. 

Jeff finds the lighter in the spice cabinet, of all places, at the same time he hears the crunch of tires on pavement and sees the flash of Harry’s headlights as he pulls into the driveway. Quickly, Jeff lights the few candles he set up around the kitchen and dims the overheads. 

Harry sounds mildly confused after he walks in, calling out a tentative, “Hello?” 

“Hey,” Jeff says, stepping around the corner. 

Harry smiles as soon as he sees him. He’s wearing magenta scrubs today, along with green socks that appear to have little moose on them. “What are you doing? Why’s it so dark in here?”

“C’mere. I have something for you.”

Tugging on his hand, Jeff pulls Harry into the orange glow of the kitchen where the cake has already been uncovered with a single lit birthday candle stuck into the middle of it. 

Harry’s smile turns a bit wobbly. “What’s all this?” he asks quietly. 

Jeff catches Harry around the waist and tugs him close so there’s hardly any space between them. “I know you didn’t want to make a big deal out of it, but I wanted to do something. Nothing crazy. Just some cake.”

“For…” Harry doesn’t finish, letting his voice trail off into the air, and at first Jeff thinks that he’s forgotten or maybe didn’t realize, but then he tucks his face into the juncture of Jeff’s neck and shoulder and lets out a shaky little sigh. 

Jeff sweeps his hand up and down Harry’s back, steady and soft. “Is it okay? I just thought—I dunno. Thought it could be nice. A non-celebratory celebration.”

Harry snorts and Jeff is thankful it’s only a tiny bit snotty. “It’s perfect,” he says against Jeff’s skin, and then pulls back to look at him with watery eyes. “You’re a good egg, Jeffrey. Maybe even the _ best _ egg. I’m gonna put you in the county fair and win first prize.”

“You feeling okay? When’s the last time you ate? You’re sounding kinda fruity like your blood sugar is low.” Jeff puts the back of his hand against his forehead, ignoring the playful way he tries to bat at him. 

“I’m _ fine_, you jackass. I was paying you a compliment.”

“All right, all right. Just checking. But seriously, you good? Everything okay in there? Babies still wreaking havoc on your organs?”

Harry grabs Jeff’s wrist and brings his hand to his mouth for a gentle kiss on his knuckles. “I feel really good. I’m very content with life right now. And as far as I can tell, they’re enjoying themselves. Still can’t feel them move yet, but hopefully soon.”

Jeff couldn’t stop the smile that breaks out on his face if he tried. “Yeah?” 

“Yeah.” In an unspoken tangle, both Harry and Jeff’s hands drift down Harry’s front and land on his middle where his stomach is ever-so-slightly starting to curve outward. Even with his scrub top in the way, Jeff can feel how warm his skin is. 

Jeff is reverent as he pulls Harry’s shirt up to expose his little bump, trailing his fingers lightly over all of his moles and freckles, going against the grain of his belly hair that’s starting to darken a bit. He’ll never take this for granted; it’s still so new, having Harry allow him to touch him like this. He’s not sure when the excitement and shine will wear off, the little tremble he gets in his own belly when he gets to look and feel and be a part of the changes that are shaping Harry’s body anew every day. 

“I’m so happy,” Jeff breathes. 

“Me too.” Harry gives him a quick kiss on the mouth, then another. “I have a good feeling about this time. And—I don’t want to get too ahead of myself. But...it’s gonna work.”

While pessimism has been comforting in the way that all of their bad predictions seemed to come true, optimism is so much nicer, like stepping into warm rays of sunlight on a cool day. Jeff is thrilled by Harry’s admission; he’s had a similar feeling, but he wanted to keep it to himself until the time was right. 

“I know. I’ve never doubted you—not now or any of the times before. Your intuition is what matters most.”

“Thank you. For...everything, really. But for trusting me with this. For giving it another chance.” 

Jeff shivers a little as he says it, this tremble that travels all the way up his spine. “It’s what I’m here for. You chose me, I chose you. We’re in it for life, kid.” 

Just as expected, Harry’s eyes go dark and wide at the mention of their bond. He tilts his head a bit, maybe without even realizing, like a reflex. Jeff obligingly nips at the spot where they sealed their fates together many moons ago, making Harry go lax as he releases a sigh. 

“Mmm. Love you. And as much as I’m enjoying that, I’m pretty sure that candle has melted entirely onto the top of the cake.”

Jeff whips his head around and sure enough, the candle is about the same size as a pencil eraser. “_Shit _.”

Harry shrugs. “I’ll still eat it. A little wax never killed nobody.” 

With one final kiss and squeeze, Jeff parts from Harry’s embrace to tend to their cake. On top of all the chocolate frosting is a puddle of pastel blue. He frowns down at it, trying to figure out how he’s going to cut around it. 

“Let’s just hope that it doesn’t irritate your delicate digestive tract.”

Jeff doesn’t even need to turn around to see the disgruntled look on Harry’s face, for he can hear it clear as day as Harry says, “_Heeeyyyy_.” 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - December 13, 2019

Switching between his calendar app and the email he just received from his boss, Jeff squints at his phone screen with increasing urgency. 

There has to be an error with the dates or a typo or some kind, because it appears as though Jeff is being whisked away on an impromptu business trip to NYC the same day as Harry’s appointment with their obstetrician this upcoming Monday. 

He could have sworn he requested that day off, among the laundry list of other dates he requested off because he wants to be there for every doctor’s visit, birthing class, blood test, and everything else in between. After all that they’ve gone through to get to this point, they need to stay a team. 

Except this particular date seems to have slipped between the cracks, and it’s too late now to try and reschedule, as flights and travel accommodations have already been booked.

Later that evening, when he tells Harry what’s going on, the news goes over surprisingly well. 

“That’s okay,” Harry says, patting his face dry with a towel. His hair has started to grow like crazy lately (everywhere, not just on his head), so he has a little clip at the top to pull it back to wash his face. 

“Are you sure?” Jeff asks warily.

Harry’s moved onto moisturizer, rubbing it into his skin with practiced circular motions. “Yeah. It’s just a routine checkup. I should be in and out relatively quick. I mean, at least if everything is still looking good in there.”

There it is: the crux of Jeff’s concern. Despite their newfound positive outlook, there’s always going to be that undercurrent of worry. The what-if’s and maybe’s. 

“Right,” Jeff intones. 

“Seriously, babe.” Harry knee-walks his way across their bed to where Jeff is laying. “I’ll be fine. I’ll call you as soon as I get out.”

Jeff locks his phone and drops it on the bedside table. He rests a hand on Harry’s thigh, who’s still kneeling next to him. An idea pops into his head.

“Why don’t you see if your mom will go with you? My mom, even. I’m sure she’d love to take you out to lunch and dote on you.”

“I’ll call her. Maybe I’ll take both of them and have them duel for my affections.” 

Jeff nods very seriously. “How medieval of you.”

Harry gets under the covers and makes himself comfortable, fluffing pillows and adjusting as necessary. As a stomach sleeper, having to switch to his side hasn’t been the easiest transition. But after a few minutes, he mostly stops squirming and lets out a murmur of contentment. That is, until his eyes flash open and he sits up rather abruptly. 

Harry inhales sharply. “They don’t know that there’s two of them yet. _ Jeff_, we haven’t told them we’re having _ twins_.”

Jeff looks at him serenely. It wasn’t his intention when he suggested that Harry take Anne or Shelli to the appointment, but he can’t say that it isn’t faintly amusing the way things are working out. Upon getting the news themselves, they hadn’t quite figured out how to tell their families. Harry suggested a letter in the mail, like the absolute weirdo he is. Jeff, much more practically, suggested they take them out to dinner and reveal it casually. 

“You can tell them. I’m sure they’ll be _ thrilled_. Like, scream your ear off thrilled.”

“We were supposed to tell them together. It was supposed to be a nice thing. Now I’m gonna be all by myself and my mom’s gonna _ cry _ and then _ I’m _gonna cry.”

Jeff pats Harry’s leg consolingly. “You cry at most things, to be fair. Don’t look at me like that—it’s true.”

Harry flops back down against the mattress in a dramatic huff. “This is gonna be a nightmare.”

“Don’t be like that,” Jeff laughs. “They’ll just be really excited.”

“I can only handle excitement in small doses,” Harry deadpans.

Jeff pokes Harry’s cheek, right where his left dimple is currently dormant. “God, we have to get you out of the house more. Take you to Vegas or something.”

“I can’t drink anymore and I don’t like gambling so that would be pointless.”

“_Boringgg_. When did you get so lame?”

“Listen, I think I have a valid excuse. I’m _ creating life_.” 

Jeff rolls his eyes jokingly. “Is that so? I thought you just ate a bunch of bread.”

Harry levels him with a knowing, playful smile. There’s a picture hanging from their fridge—a sonogram printout with two distinct shapes that get bigger every time they see them—that speaks to how real this all is. 

“Well, then you’re in for quite a surprise in a few months,” Harry says.

Jeff doesn’t argue any further. 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - December 25, 2019 

Jeff got the grilling of a lifetime from his whole family when him and Harry joined them to celebrate the first night of Hanukkah. Harry was spared a verbal lashing on the grounds that he’s pregnant, and therefore has obtained indefinite tribal council immunity, so to speak. In fact, no one had an ill word to speak of him the entire time his mother and sisters were expressing their outrage over not being told right away in between bites of latkes. 

Anne was more reserved but still made her displeasure known, except Harry took the brunt of it while Jeff was left mostly unscathed. Still, they left her house with leftovers and the rest of the brownies she baked for their visit, so she couldn’t have been that upset.

According to Harry, at the ultrasound appointment, both of their moms promptly lost their minds when Dr. Avery started talking about ‘baby A’ and ‘baby B’, evidently causing quite a stir in the office. They took Harry out afterward for pastries and ice cream and gave him all the attention expected and then some. When Jeff got home from his trip the following evening, he swears that Harry was still pink from all of the love and affection he was showered with. 

Christmas Eve was spent at Harry’s mom’s house, where Harry promptly fell asleep around eight and had to be carried to the car when they left later in the evening. Now, here they are on Christmas morning with not an ounce of inclination to get out of bed. 

In the kitchen, there’s a tray of cinnamon rolls from their neighbor Maria with instructions to heat up in the oven and eat warm. Jeff’s stomach rumbles as a cruel reminder of just how hungry he is. But in order to eat the cinnamon rolls that he’s been thinking about since he woke up, he’d have to get up and expend energy that he isn’t ready to expend yet. 

Harry is toasty warm next to him, buried under a mountain of blankets and totally dead to the world still. Last night after they returned home, even though he was fighting to keep his eyes open, he still insisted on changing into his most festive pair of pajamas, featuring reindeer with little Santa hats on them. 

With a groan, Jeff finally lets hunger win and pushes himself up and out of bed, careful not to disturb Harry. 

The kitchen tiles are cold under his feet as he rubs his eyes and fiddles with the oven temperature. Just a few minutes after putting the tray in to heat up, the house is filled with the smell of sugary pastry. 

Jeff is in the process of getting plates and silverware ready—fully prepared to bring Harry breakfast in bed—when Harry wraps his arms around him from behind. Well, as best as he can with his belly in the way. 

“G’morning,” Harry murmurs, voice low and scratchy.

“Morning. You could’ve slept in. I was gonna bring some to you.”

Harry kisses him on the back of his neck, right over the topmost knob of Jeff’s spine, making him shiver a bit. “You’re too good to me. I wanted to get up though. My back was getting a little twingy.”

With two cinnamon rolls plated and ready to go, Jeff makes his way to the kitchen table with Harry right at his heels. Not interested in waiting for the rolls to cool, they both burn their tongues on their first bites and laugh as they suck in air. After that, they continue eating in companionable silence. Harry opts to save the bit with the most icing for last, while Jeff tries to distribute his icing as evenly as possible over the whole pastry. 

It isn’t until they’ve both finished that Harry says, “Oh! Merry Christmas, by the way.”

Jeff swallows his last bite and snorts. “What, did you forget it was today?”

“I didn’t _ forget_. It just kinda slipped my mind until about twenty seconds ago.”

“_Well_, I didn’t forget. So let me know when you’re ready to do gifts because there’s a crapload of socks and underwear waiting for you.”

Harry smacks Jeff lightly on the arm. “You’re not supposed to tell people what you got them!” 

Slowly and after a bit more bickering, they make their way into the living room where, under the tree, an array of gifts in various states of wrapping success are waiting for them. All of Harry’s gifts for Jeff have perfectly tucked corners and expertly placed bows. And Jeff’s gifts for Harry...are mostly in bags because his attempts with the wrapping paper resulted in too much tape and exposed sections where he underestimated how much paper he needed. 

Harry sinks down onto the couch with a drawn-out sigh while Jeff stations himself on the ground so he can distribute packages. He tosses a small one to Harry first that he doesn’t catch and gets a quick glare in return. 

However, once Harry opens it, his expression morphs into an easy smile. 

“Corgi fuzzy socks?!” 

“Yeah, to keep your icy toes at bay.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “_Thanks_. Now, you open that one. Nope—other one. The one with the pink paper.”

Jeff doesn’t waste any time, tearing through the paper and getting scraps of it everywhere. As soon as the box underneath is visible, Jeff looks up to find Harry already grinning at him. It’s one of those fancy waffle makers like they have at hotels for continental breakfast, with the handle that lets you flip them while cooking. He mentioned it once a few months ago that it might be cool to have one in the house; he should remember that despite his scatterbrained tendencies, Harry really pays attention. 

“Babe, this is awesome. Thank you.” 

Harry blushes at the serious praise, shifting in his seat. “Open the rest of your presents, Jeffrey.”

They take turns, opening things one at a time, neither of them able to contain the excitement of knowing what a person is about to open and watching their face change as they see what they’ve got. As promised, Harry receives multiple packages of socks and underwear (some of the latter will never leave their bedroom) among more assorted, random things like some new pajamas, a set of fancy stemless wine glasses, and a new pair of wireless headphones. Over the years Jeff has learned that Harry is very easy to shop for; you could give him a bag of jelly beans and he’d be pleased. 

It’s tough competition when faced with the success of the waffle maker, but Jeff is happy to discover that Harry also got him a new watch, some very nice cable knit sweaters, and a new brown leather briefcase with his initials embossed into it. 

Holding the bag in his hands, Jeff skims his fingers over the smooth material, noting the quality of the grain and stitches. “H, this is like, too nice.”

Harry shrugs. “Don’t worry about it. Mitch knows a guy, so I got a really good deal.”

Jeff wiggles into a spot next to Harry on the couch among the piles of his new bounty. He slides an arm around his waist and lays a hand against his belly. “Thank you for all my stuff. Impeccable taste as always, Styles.”

“You still have more under the tree, you know. I know we said we weren’t gonna do any baby-related stuff. But…” 

Jeff is smiling before Harry is finished talking. Silently, he goes over to the hall closet and pulls out a bag that he had tucked away a couple weeks ago, not sure what the protocol was going to be today. He’s glad that Harry decided to cave. 

“For you,” Jeff says as he drops the bag onto Harry’s lap. 

As promised, under the tree in the very back is a thin, rectangular box wrapped in festive paper with a name tag for Jeff on it. He delays opening it in favor of watching Harry carefully remove the tissue paper from his own gift. Harry pulls out the matching knit hats and beams. 

“Oh my _ God_. These are so cute!” Harry holds them up, one in each hand. The hats are no bigger than a grapefruit, with tiny bobbles on the top. One is made of yellow yarn and the other a muted green. “Where did you get them?”

Jeff blushes. “I uhm. I made them.”

“You _ what_?!”

“I made them. When I had that work trip I got the idea and looked up a bunch of videos on how to knit and stuff. And then when I got back I started working on them while you weren’t home.”

Harry’s mouth drops open. Jeff would be offended at Harry’s clear disbelief if he wasn’t worried that Harry might be legitimately malfunctioning. 

“Hello? Earth to Harry.” Jeff waves his arms around, but Harry is still staring at him in shock. 

That is, until he starts to cry. It’s subtle, as far as Harry crying usually goes. His nose still gets pink and he cheeks go blotchy, but only a single tear leaks out of his watery eyes. “You made them,” he says, sounding halfway between a statement and a question still. 

“Yup. There’s a few mis-stitches, because, you know. Still not perfect at it. But the lady at the craft store told me what size to make, so they should fit them.” Jeff starts to blush, feeling proud of himself and a tiny bit silly and he just really, _ really _wants Harry to like them. 

One hat in each hand, Harry looks down at them again, rubbing his thumbs over the yarn. “They’re perfect,” he whispers. Then, at a more normal volume, “These are the two nicest gifts that anyone has ever gotten me, and they’re not even for _ me_, really.”

Jeff rubs the back of his neck. “You’ve got a pretty big noggin, so no. I wouldn’t advise trying to stuff your head in one of them.”

“Can you c’mere, please? I’d go to you but I don’t think I can stand up without help anyway.”

As requested, since he asked so nicely, Jeff crosses the room again to meet Harry in a kiss. Maybe more than one. A few, really. He still tastes like cinnamon and sugar. 

“You should open yours now,” Harry says against Jeff’s lips. “It’s not as nice, or like, handmade. But I think you’re gonna like it.”

Jeff pulls back far enough so that he can pull the wrapping paper off the box in question. He removes the cardboard lid, peels back the layers of tissue paper, and reveals what appears to be some type of gray garment. Upon further inspection, Jeff deduces that it’s a vest of sorts. With pockets. 

Harry’s watching him, biting his own bottom lip. “What do you think?”

“It’s great,” Jeff assures. “Is it a smock? Like the ones you’d wear in kindergarten art class?”

Harry lets out a puff of laughter. “_No_. It’s called a Weego. It’s a baby carrier, but for twins. They designed it to look like a t-shirt.”

Jeff brushes his hand over the soft fabric, feels out the pockets and tries to imagine actual babies in them. _ Soon_, he reminds himself, and smiles softly. “This is great, babe. Thank you.”

Harry shrugs, casual-like, but Jeff can tell he’s pleased. “I tried it on when it first came in and it’s surprisingly comfy. I stuck two cantaloupes in there as a test, too.” 

Of course he did. “And? What’s the verdict on weight distribution?”

“Stellar. No shoulder digging or sliding.”

Jeff is in love with a complete dork. Between this, the hats, and everything else they’ve amassed in preparation for the babies’ arrival, they’re well on their way to being ready. Or at least, as ready as possible. One look at Harry’s face, though, is enough for Jeff to feel like he’s on top of the world.

“Merry Christmas, Harry,” Jeff murmurs, leaning in for another kiss. 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - January 7, 2020

Harry’s in the bathroom and has been for quite some time now, and he’s trying to have a conversation with Jeff through the closed door. 

Jeff, who is stretched out on their bed and was fully ready to go to sleep, is trying his best to listen to the stream of consciousness ramble that Harry is intent on sharing with him. 

“Oh! Jeffrey, did you know the babies are now the size of sweet potatoes? Well...maybe not. The site I’m reading from is talking about one baby, not twins.” Despite the way his voice is muffled, Jeff can still hear a slightly dismayed note in his tone. 

“So maybe more like a regular potato,” Jeff offers, folding his arms under his head.

Harry seems to consider this for a moment. “Yeah. But all potatoes are different sizes. You’d have to be specific about which type.”

Jeff stares blankly at the ceiling. Unbidden, he starts going through his mental rolodex of potato knowledge before he realizes how ridiculous that is. 

“You know, I think this whole vegetable and fruit comparison thing is weird. There’s no like, consistency, no matter which one you’re talking about. What is _ really _the standard size of an eggplant? Do we even know?”

There’s the flush of the toilet and then Harry is emerging from the bathroom after quickly turning on the fan and closing the door behind himself. 

“That sounds like the start of a really bad joke. And you know that’s more _ my _area of expertise.”

“I gotta start brushing up on my dad jokes if I want to compete with the likes of you.”

Clad in nothing but an oversized t-shirt, Harry ambles over and carefully climbs on the bed. Lately he’s been complaining that his center of gravity is off (and Jeff has had to refrain from asking if he even had a center of gravity to begin with), so he’s slow and a little clumsy as he slots himself against Jeff’s side. 

“I’d prefer if you didn’t tell our children dick jokes while they’re still in utero.”

Jeff snorts and wraps an arm around Harry’s back and shoulders. _ Our children_. His stomach wobbles a bit, in a good way. “Fair enough.”

Harry nuzzles his face further into Jeff’s neck like some sort of warm, pregnant housecat and hums on a sigh. “You know what I also just realized? We still don’t have a nursery.”

Technically that’s half true. They _ do _have a nursery, as in, they have the space that will eventually become one. However, the room in question is Jeff’s office that he hardly ever uses and is mostly a giant junk drawer where they put things that don’t otherwise have a more permanent home. It’s filled with boxes that have still yet to be unpacked from when Harry was in college and other things that Jeff doesn’t ever recall moving from his apartment but are somehow here anyway. 

There’s also a logistical concern that wasn’t there when they were under the impression that a successful pregnancy would result in a single baby. Now they’re going to have to figure out how to arrange two cribs in a room that isn’t very large, as well as all of the other newborn necessities that have just doubled in quantity. 

“We can start going through all of the stuff in there this weekend if you want,” Jeff offers. 

“Okay. I really wanna do something nice and neutral. Like a soft orange-y color? Or even a sage.”

“I like those. I trust your artistic direction.”

Harry sits up a bit, leaning on an elbow, so his face is hovering over Jeff’s. He kisses him, soft and sweet, on the mouth. “Mm. Thank you.”

“And you still want to wait, right? I mean, not find out the sexes at all?” Jeff asks. 

“Yeah. It’s not important to me. They’re babies. They can come out with gills and I’ll love them just the same.”

“You’re banned from watching _ The Shape of Water_.” 

Jokes aside, Jeff doesn’t care either. It didn’t matter when they first started trying and it still doesn’t matter now. He just wants to have happy, healthy kids with Harry. That’s all he can hope for. A few friends have asked him already, and he’s started to get increasingly frequent texts from his sisters about silly stuff like a gender reveal party that neither he nor Harry are planning on having. All of it seems superfluous. 

“I just don’t want it to be _ a thing_,” Harry says. “People get weird about it. Because if you say you’re having a boy then suddenly everything is blue and _ football _ and _ trucks_. And if you’re having a girl it’s pink and ballet and _ vacuuming_. Absolutely batshit. _ And_, don’t even get me started on people trying to guess what they’ll present as. I already had someone at work tell me that I’m carrying low so I should expect _ two little omegas_.”

Jeff makes a face. “That’s obnoxious. Who said that?”

“One of the older supervisors. I don’t think she meant it in a bad way. It’s just...you know.” Harry shrugs. 

“Well, don’t listen to her. We’ll cross that bridge when we get to it. Right now I just need you to stay as stress free as possible. You’re baking two very important little buns.”

“_Sweet potatoes_, babe,” Harry says. 

“Right. Sweet potatoes. Not to be confused with a russet or yukon gold—”

“It’s very sexy when you talk culinary to me.”

“Well I’d better stop then, before you get too excited. Don’t you have to be at work at seven tomorrow?”

Harry flops back onto his pillow. “Ugh. Yes.”

Jeff pats Harry’s thigh before reaching over to turn off the bedside lamp. “I brewed coffee already. All you have to do is add ice. And I left out that reusable cup you like on the counter.”

“You’re the best. And I’m sorry if I kick the shit out of you again tonight.”

“Don’t worry about it. At least you’re not getting up every three minutes to pee yet.”

Harry gets comfortable on his side and drapes an arm around Jeff’s waist in a rare pseudo big spoon moment. “Yeah, _ yet_.”

Minutes go by, both of their breathing slowing down as their eyes close and they start to drift off until suddenly, Harry inhales sharply followed by a surprised “Oh!”

Jeff’s eyes snap open. “What?” 

“I think...I felt something.”

Squinting into the darkness, Jeff thinks he can make out Harry’s startled, hopeful face. “Like...?”

“It felt different than last time. More fluttery,” Harry says, voice soft.

Last time, which was about a week ago, turned out to be gas, something Dr. Avery said is perfectly normal to confuse with fetal movement. Now at sixteen weeks, Harry’s right at the mark where it could really be happening. 

“Yeah? Where?” Jeff asks, clicking the lamp back on.

Harry drags Jeff’s hand across his middle, over the most distended part and then lower where it starts to slope down toward his groin, his eyebrows furrowed like he’s concentrating. “Right...here,” he says, pressing lightly just above his left hip bone. 

Jeff waits a few beats with nothing but the steady warmth of Harry’s skin against his palm. He doesn’t feel anything, but he’s smiling anyway. 

“There it is again!” Harry nearly shouts. “Jeff! Say something to them.”

It’s like being called on to read in class, and even though you’ve been paying attention and following along, your tongue still gets all twisted up. “Uhm. I—uh. Hello?”

“Scoot down so they can hear you,” Harry urges. And who is Jeff to say no to him right now when he looks so radiantly happy? 

So he pushes the covers back and adjusts himself, arm propped under his head, face-to-face with the side of Harry’s belly. This is totally new territory. He ignores his stage fright and takes a deep breath. 

“Uh. Hello, baby. Or babies. I dunno if both of you can hear me or not.” He pauses, aware that Harry is watching and listening, but instead of feeling embarrassed, one quick glance at his face has Jeff settling into a place where maybe this could be their new normal. He continues addressing Harry’s smooth, freckled skin. “That’s still weird, by the way. Thinking about how there’s two of you in there. I hope you’re having a nice time. Swimming around in...baby fluid. Sorry if that’s gross, I just don’t know the word for it.”

Harry is biting his lower lip, clearly trying to keep his laughter at bay. “Amniotic fluid,” he helpfully supplies.

Jeff taps his own forehead with the heel of his hand. “Yes. That’s it. Amniotic fluid. And I hope the accommodations are up to your standards. If not, I’ll be sure to speak with the manager.” 

“You were supposed to be saying nice things.” Despite his words, Harry looks pleased as punch with his red cheeks and watery eyes. 

Because of his wacky hormones and generally emotional nature, it’s not a shock to see Harry crying. Lately he’s been a bit more prone to it then when he wasn’t pregnant, getting sniffly over car insurance commercials or accidentally getting a piece of shell in the bowl while cracking an egg. However, Jeff thinks that this situation is maybe a bit more understandable. His own eyes start to sting a bit as he looks Harry up and down, paying special attention to all of the ways that he’s allowing his body to change, from the extra softness around his hips to the cluster of breakouts on his forehead. All of it for this: bringing their babies into the world. The ones that they wanted so badly and are now finally getting. 

“I thought it was nice,” Jeff says. He presses his lips right over the spot where Harry’s hand was resting. 

“They like your voice. They keep flipping all around.” Harry strokes his thumb over Jeff’s eyebrow, cradling the side of his face in his palm. 

Jeff’s breath gets caught in his throat. “Really?”

“Yeah,” Harry sighs dreamily. “It’s like when you have butterflies in your stomach but even more intense. I wish you could feel it from the outside.”

The enormity of it crashes over Jeff like a wave. He’ll be able to feel them moving soon enough, and then they’ll be out in the world and he’ll be able to hold them and hear them and look at them. 

For now, though, this is enough. He’s content in the knowledge that Harry can feel them moving, knowing they’re all right and that they seem to enjoy his idiotic rambling. 

“Are you sure it’s not just gas?” Jeff asks, only half kidding.

Harry shakes his head. “I’m positive. Whenever you talk it’s like a little dance party in my belly.” 

Jeff opens his mouth to say something but Harry cuts him off and continues, nearly knocking Jeff’s heart clean out of his body as he says, “They love their daddy already.”

That’s—it hasn’t quite clicked yet. Objectively, he’s been aware from the very beginning that they’ve ultimately been working towards that. Becoming dads. Being parents. But hearing Harry say it like that, so unwaveringly certain, Jeff is bowled over. He’s going to be a _ dad_.

There aren’t words that he could string together right now that even begin to explain how he feels. Over the moon? Scared shitless? He tries to say everything with a kiss, his nose pressing into Harry’s cheek with the force of it, laughter slipping through the cracks of their lips. 

With their foreheads still pressed together, Jeff says, “I love them, too. Very much. And I love _ you_.”

***

Los Angeles IVF Clinic - January 25, 2020

Every new appointment they go to heralds only good news about how the babies are developing right on track and how everything is progressing well. The dark storm cloud of dread and anxiety that’s been following them seems to be blown further and further into the distance with each of these new ultrasounds, turning into a shadowy echo of its former self. Jeff still worries plenty, but it’s less fervent now. More rational and centered around the future, and less about living every second waiting for some terrible news. 

Harry’s a seasoned professional now, lifting his t-shirt without being asked and only wincing a little at the coolness of the gel as it’s smeared all over his stomach. His face is free of any tension: mouth curved up pleasantly, eyes bright. He takes Jeff’s hand when the sonogram machine whirs to life.

It’s Whitney again manning the wand, who glances between them and asks, “So boys, last chance. Still don’t want to know?”

Jeff thinks it’s a bit funny that she calls them ‘boys’ when she looks fresh out of school, maybe only a couple years older than Cam. He shakes his head. “Yup. We’ve decided to go full mystery box. I’m placing bets on kittens, though.”

Harry rolls his eyes, still smiling softly. “He thinks he’s hilarious.”

“Well, as far as I can tell, no kittens. Just two perfectly proportioned babies who’ve met their growth requirements again.” Whitney uses her hand that’s not occupied with the wand to click a few buttons that Jeff can’t see, dragging circle outlines over the screen. 

The grey figures look less like smudges and more like actual babies now, with distinguishable features: their big alien heads, legs, feet, hands, and arms. If he really looks, he can see the slopes of two tiny little noses and two pairs of pouty lips. 

“Can you tell?” Jeff finds himself asking. Quickly, he adds, “I mean, just out of curiosity.”

Whitney makes a minor adjustment and the image shifts. “Hm. One of them is in a really good spot, so I have a good clear view of what’s going on there. The other is being a little trickier.”

“See? They’re shy about it. That’s why we don’t need to know right now,” Harry says. 

Jeff nudges Harry with an elbow. “Plenty of other things to embarrass them about anyway.”

Whitney smiles politely before getting up from her chair. “All right, everything looks good so I’m gonna turn this off and print out some new pictures for you guys. I’ll be right back.” 

Once the door is clicked shut and they’re alone, Harry finishes wiping himself down with some paper towels and readjusts his shirt. “Do _ you _want to know?” he asks. He tosses the wad of paper towels across the room but misses the trash by about a foot. 

“No. As I said, I was just curious if she could see.”

Harry eyes him a little skeptically. “All right. Just checking.” He pauses, clearly thinking, with a little furrow between his brows. “Well. Since we’re talking about it, what do you _ think _they might be?”

Jeff’s eyes go wide. He honestly hasn’t thought about it much outside of abstract sorts of images: Harry holding two tiny swaddled newborns in the morning, two highchairs in their kitchen, two sets of little socked feet. It won’t change anything either way, no matter what they get, so everything he’s imagined has been...neutral. 

“I dunno. I’m fine with either. All. Everything in between.”

Harry’s smile is back, curling up slowly but surely. “Good answer.”

“Though, I will say this: I want some control over what we name them. I’m not gonna let you pick out something ridiculous like _ peony _ or _ solstice_.”

“Excuse me, I’d like to think I have better taste than that,” Harry says, affronted.

Whitney saves them from any more bickering, knocking on the door and then stepping inside. “Okay, so here are your new pictures. We’ll want to see you again in about a month, to keep track of things, make sure they’re still growing properly. All that good stuff. Things are looking excellent in there, so just keep doing what you’re doing!” 

They leave the office excited, swinging their clasped hands between themselves as they walk to the car. All jesting aside, Jeff’s not very bothered about any potential names. If Harry really wanted to name them something like Clover and Tulip, he’d probably let him. What’s important is that everyone is happy and healthy. And, at the moment, that Harry wants to stop and grab lunch from one of their favorite restaurants. 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - January 30, 2020

They’re having dinner during a rare night where both of them are home to have a sit down meal when Harry pushes a piece of paper across the table—a torn off notepad page from the magnet they keep on the fridge for grocery lists. Except this isn’t a grocery list. Jeff starts scanning; Oliver, Quinn, Rowan, Isaac, Adrian, Taylor, Harper, Ava, and so on. 

“Baby names?” he asks. 

Chewing on a rather large mouthful of pasta, Harry merely blinks and nods. 

Jeff goes back to the list. It’s not terribly long, and it’s clear that Harry has been adding to it at random, with different colored ink scrawled across the page, some messy and some neat. He wonders when Harry has been adding to this; he’s never seen it before until today, but it makes his chest feel warm to think that Harry might have been keeping it a secret to surprise him like this. 

The names aren’t what Jeff was expecting. For starters, some of them are pretty Standard Boy Names and Standard Girl Names (not that Jeff wouldn’t put it past Harry to use them for the opposite anyway). There are a few gender neutral names that Jeff quite likes. But most importantly, they’re simple, subdued, and well...normal. 

“No Apple or Pear? _ Eagle_?” 

The look Harry gives him this time is significantly less pleasant. He’s moved onto tearing through his piece of garlic bread, but quickly swallows to say, “I don’t know why you think I wanna go full crunch. I’m not a complete weirdo.”

Jeff has a whole mental list of reasons he’s committed to memory that discredit that statement entirely, but he figures now is not the time to bring it up. “I like Quinn. That’s a nice one,” he offers. 

“Me too. I haven’t been on any of the baby name websites yet. So I’ve just been writing down ones I hear or see at work and whatnot. To get a feel for things.” Harry shrugs, his eyes falling to his near-empty plate. His mouth twists before he adds, “I dunno. It’s still really weird. There’s a part of me that hasn’t gotten the memo yet and keeps telling me that I shouldn’t get too attached. That picking out potential names is going too far. You know?”

Jeff’s heart feels like there’s a squeezing fist around it. He _ does _know how Harry feels. It feels like just yesterday they were knocking on wood every time they would talk about the baby they most recently lost, when their hope and determination was already running thin even without the knowledge of what was to come. Now, this time seems to be sticking better than all the others—the glossy black and gray prints pinned to their fridge are a testament to that—but there’s always that ever-present worry in the back of Jeff’s mind. That this whole thing could go south at any moment. 

Optimism has been easier to latch onto lately. Both himself and Harry have been in good moods most of the time, aside from the occasional argument or two about walking through the house with muddy shoes still on or using the last of the shampoo and not replacing it—things that have nothing to do with themselves eminently on the cusp of fatherhood. The possibility of another disaster has been pushed to the very back of Jeff’s mind, stuffed into a file cabinet and locked shut. However, it seems like Harry has decided to rattle the handle a bit.

“I know what you mean,” Jeff says. His mouth feels very dry. 

Harry reaches across the table and interlocks their fingers. “I just realized the other day that there’s so much stuff we have to think about, though. I know it’s still early still, but I wanna make sure we have things planned. Nothing super rigid, but some basic plans.”

Jeff nods. He’s been distantly aware of that as well. They’ve made some progress on certain things, namely the nursery. The room has been mostly cleared and dusted, and next on the docket is picking out a paint color that they both like; so far in the running it’s Garden Spot up against Cucumber Crush and Mountain Ash. Furniture still needs to be brought in. Jeff’s parents have some old pieces from when he was a kid that are sitting in storage and ready to go: stuff that his sisters apparently didn’t want. They still have to find cribs, though, and Jeff is certain that Harry will want to hand-pick those. 

Neither of them have made any moves to have another serving of pasta, so Jeff starts to gather up their dirty dishes and silverware. “Talk to me, kid. What do you have in mind?”

At the sink, Jeff washes while Harry dries, a neat little system that they’ve had employed since they first started living together. 

“Well, I want some of your input, on the name front. I know it’s kinda corny, but if you could make a list of ones you like, we could like, cross compare them. And,” Harry pauses, giving Jeff a sidelong glance. “Do you know what a Brit Shalom is?”

Jeff adds some more dish soap to the sponge, raising his eyebrows. “Should I?”

“How do you feel about circumcision?” Harry asks, his voice even and calm, betraying the way his cheeks have faintly pinked up. 

Jeff lets out a weird cough-laugh sound. “I—well. Like in relation to me? Or about you? Because if you haven’t figured it out by now, I like your dick just fine, foreskin and all.” 

“I meant for our children who could potentially have penises, but thank you.” Harry rolls his eyes, looking significantly more ruffled than he did a few minutes ago. 

“Oh. _Ohh_.” Another detail that Jeff hasn’t thought about quite yet. Evidently Harry hasn’t let it slip by. “I’m guessing you’re pretty against it, then.”

Harry puts the last dish back in the cabinet and faces Jeff fully. “If it’s something that’s really important to you, we can discuss it. But you’re right, I’m not crazy about it.”

Jeff takes in the tiny worried crease between Harry’s brows and the determined set of his mouth. “What’s that thing? A Brit Shalom?” 

“It’s an alternative to circumcising Jewish babies. They call it a naming ceremony, and it just means that they can still be Jewish without any...removal of anything. I looked it up before the last appointment, just in case.” He keeps shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

It’s in moments like these that Jeff finds himself blown away by the level of thought and care Harry puts into things. He’s always making considerations for Jeff, whether that be keeping a window open at night because he gets hot when he sleeps or using the expensive detergent that doesn’t make him itch like others do. It’s clear that he’s thought about this and done his research, holding his ground in a respectful, kind way. 

“I can’t believe I get to keep you,” Jeff says, stepping into Harry’s space and holding him around his waist. “And you’re even more stuck with me now, thanks to these two.”

“You say that like you had a choice to begin with.” Harry’s smirk is coy, causing his left dimple to form its full crescent. He drapes his arms loosely over Jeff’s shoulders. 

Pressed close like this, Jeff can’t get enough of the way Harry’s firm belly bumps into his own. His decidedly less firm belly, but one that Harry has taken a claim to anyway, only short of marking his territory like a dog. Jeff is marked in other ways, though. He can practically feel his connection to Harry right now, grasping tendrils that weave through them, innate and powerful. 

“Is that so?” he asks, before kissing the hinge of Harry’s jaw. 

“Mhm. Very much. I knew even on our very first date, when you told me you liked sushi when it was very clear that you absolutely did not. But you ate it anyway and walked me to my car and didn’t leave until after I’d driven away.” Harry’s eyes are glowing as he says it. 

Jeff remembers it well. The way Harry smelled, how funny and polite he was. “I was so fucking nervous. You have no idea.”

“And you didn’t kiss me. I leaned in and everything.”

“I kissed you on the _ cheek_. I was trying to be good!”

Harry smiles and lets out a quick breath through his nose. “_Now _look at us. Old and boring. Fighting over who gets to take the first shower in the morning. And hogging covers.”

“First of all, you’re twenty-five. That’s hardly old. And secondly, it is one-hundred percent you who steals the blankets.”

“My birthday is soon. _ Really _soon. Twenty-six is old,” Harry says petulantly. 

“I know, I didn’t forget. And I have plans for you, wrinkles.” 

Harry scowls and pinches his ear. “That’s not very nice.”

“Seriously, though. Thank you for asking me about that thing. I’ve never heard of it before but I’ll look it up later. Maybe talk to my dad. But if it’s something that you’re sure you don’t want to do, I’m totally fine with that.”

Harry’s eyes dart quickly back and forth between Jeff’s. “You’re sure? I don’t want you to think you don’t have a say.”

“Positive,” Jeff says, and punctuates it with a kiss, warm and soft and perfect. 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - February 1, 2020

Trying to keep things from Harry is like trying to get a pig to fly. 

Leading up to his birthday, Harry tries everything to get Jeff to reveal his plans, from relentlessly pouting to threatening him with the promise of never having sex with him ever again once the babies are born. Jeff is smart enough to call his bluff, but he comes incredibly close to caving. 

Still, he remains strong. He listens to Harry’s incessant whining for an entire week, trying to keep him pacified with the promise of a nice birthday surprise, and if he throws in a few extra foot massages and pints of ice cream for bribery purposes, well. So be it. 

The morning of, Jeff lets Harry sleep in. Getting a full night’s rest is a precious commodity lately, so he tiptoes around and gets himself presentable for the day. 

Harry finally wakes up around eleven and finds Jeff where he’s watching _ The Price Is Right _ in the living room. 

“Good morning, birthday boy,” Jeff says cheerily.

After a yawn and a clumsy eye rub, Harry responds, his voice low and scratchy. “G’morning.”

“How long do you need to get ready?”

Harry drops down next to Jeff on the couch with a sigh, all long hairy legs and his bump sticking out like he’s shoved a beach ball up under his t-shirt. Even the doctors and nurses have commented on how much he’s showing already, apparently on the bigger side for multiples. Harry nearly had a stroke the first time they mentioned it. 

“Half hour, tops? Need to shower. Haven’t washed my hair in a couple days.”

Jeff pats him on the thigh. “Wonderful, because we have brunch plans in about an hour.”

With a renewed sense of energy, Harry scurries off to the bathroom, only to emerge a few minutes later scrubbed pink, wearing a bathrobe that is barely being held shut by the belt and a terry cloth towel turban on his head. 

“I have no idea what to wear. Why didn’t you tell me this sooner so I could’ve bought something that _ fits_?”

Jeff has to bite down on his lip to contain his smile at the ridiculous picture Harry paints right now, half-naked with his hands on his hips, cranky and swollen. 

“We’re not going anywhere fancy. Personally, I think you should go like that.”

Harry scoffs. “Yeah and get arrested for public indecency. Which _ you _would be paying my bail money.”

“Seriously. Just throw on some jeans and a shirt. See this?” Jeff gestures at his own ensemble, identical to what he just described. “I’m not changing. You’ll be fine.”

In the end, they end up matching rather well, which Harry is endlessly pleased about despite his earlier griping. He’s even more pleased when they arrive at the restaurant and he finds out that their friends and family are going to be joining them. 

Harry steals Felix as soon as they get seated and keeps him on his lap for almost the entire meal, offering him bits of fruit and tiny bits of his pancakes. 

Anne tugs on Jeff’s sleeve while Harry is preoccupied and pitches her voice low. “He looks so happy. Thank you for doing this. And thank you for always being so good to him.”

Before Jeff can correct her—tell her that it’s the other way around, really—a chorus of “Happy Birthday” is started by the restaurant staff as their server carries over a cupcake with a candle in it. 

Later, after everyone is stuffed to the brim and they’ve all had their fill of touching Harry’s belly and telling him how wonderful he looks, Jeff and Harry are alone again. 

With his hand poised and ready to turn the ignition, Jeff asks, “Wanna go to the beach?”

Harry’s answering grin is all he needs to start driving. 

The water is cold when they stick their feet in, so of course, the only respectable course of action is to follow up with ice cream. Buttercrunch for Harry and mint chocolate chip for Jeff. They take their treats back to the sand and park themselves out of the waves’ reach to enjoy the crisp air and February sun. 

“I don’t even care that this isn’t dairy free. It’s worth it,” Harry says, taking a bite out of his sugar cone.

“Your bravery is admirable.” 

“The babies didn’t want frozen yogurt today.” 

Jeff smiles. “Did they enjoy their breakfast earlier?”

Harry taps his chin, considering. “I think so. They were moving around a lot when I was talking to everyone. Must’ve been the noise or something. But they’ve settled down. The water is relaxing.” 

“Do you think they’ll like the beach?” Jeff can’t remember a time in his life when he didn’t love swimming or building sand castles. Growing up in the area meant living in the water during the summer. He hopes his kids will find the same love and appreciation for it. 

“Yeah, of course. We’ll take them as soon as we can. Slather them in sunscreen and keep them under an umbrella. Make sure they don’t get sand in their little eyes. I wonder if they make sunglasses for newborns…”

Jeff breathes out a puff of laughter. “I can’t wait.”

He really means it, too. He can’t wait to meet them in general. Now that they’ve reached an equilibrium where the scale isn’t tipped too far to one side, hovering comfortably between worry and complacency, he’s looking forward to all of the little things. First cries, first day home, first naps on the couch. He feels well and truly ready. 

Harry, who’s finished with his entire ice cream, scoots over closer to Jeff. He slings an arm around his waist and drops his head on Jeff’s shoulder. “Me too. I have so many things I want to show them already. Music, pictures...my favorite places. I wanna tell them about space and how plants grow and why the sky is blue. Just—so much. Isn’t it crazy? That they aren’t even born yet and I love them this much?”

Normally, Jeff would have something smart to say about how yes, Harry is indeed crazy. But he feels the same. He’s loved them since he opened his heart to the idea of them staying around, and even before that, when he didn’t realize it and things were still up in the air. 

“No. I know what you mean. Every time I think about them I get like, giddy.”

Harry kisses his shoulder, lips warm through his t-shirt. “You’re a big softie, Jeffrey Azoff.”

Jeff eats the last of his cone and wipes his hands together. “C’mon, princess. Let’s go do some shopping before you go into a lactose-induced coma.”

*

Shopping ends up being a quicker experience than originally intended. Jeff only manages to buy Harry a necklace with a cool-looking blue stone from an antique shop before Harry starts to complain about his feet and back being sore. Then it’s a matter of walking back to the car and driving home, while Harry shuts his eyes and vehemently denies that he’s sleeping.

However, as soon as they step over the threshold of the front door, Harry kisses Jeff on the mouth like his life depends on it, all signs of tiredness suddenly vanished. 

Jeff _ mmphs _ into his mouth, surprised not even beginning to cover it. For the past few months, Jeff has become very well acquainted with his right hand, like high school all over again. Of course, he isn’t _ actually _a teenager anymore, so he’s learned to control himself, even if that means not discussing or trying to initiate sex at all. 

There aren’t any specific rules against it, but under the guidance of Dr. Avery, they were advised to refrain from any type of sexual activities for the first trimester in order to lessen the risk of early complications. So they put their wants on the backburner in favor of doing their best to ensure that nothing went wrong. Now that they’re safely in the second trimester, Jeff still hasn’t brought it up because Harry hasn’t said anything and it isn’t really a priority. He just assumed that Harry either hasn’t been in the mood or he still has some lingering anxiety.

Something seems to have changed, if the way Harry is crowding into his space is any indication. 

Reluctantly, Jeff pulls back a bit. “Hey, whoa. Let’s slow down.”

Harry’s eyes are already heavy-lidded (though, that could be more to do with the nap he took in the car). He nods, pushing his hair off his forehead, clearly trying to collect himself. “Right, sorry. Just—uh. Getting a little carried away.” 

Jeff understands. He puts even more distance between them, rubbing Harry’s shoulders. “It’s all right, babe. Let’s get you into some pajamas and ready for bed. You’ve had a long day.”

“_What_?!”

Jeff’s eyebrows scrunch together. He carefully examines Harry’s face for any signs of what he might be feeling, but all he sees is an expression of acute horror. “I—you don’t wanna go to bed? That’s fine. We can stay up. I think that show you like has a new season on Netflix—”

Harry closes his eyes and shakes his head, cutting Jeff off before he can continue. “I don’t wanna watch a show or go to bed. What I _ want _is to watch you get off.”

Somehow, a ball of air or _ something _gets caught in Jeff’s throat and makes him choke. Celibacy evidently takes its toll on a person, because the mere mention of orgasms has his traitorous dick perking up in his jeans. “Excuse you?”

“I know things have been a little...different lately. I’ve just read a bunch of things about how sex can trigger premature labor because of like, pelvic floor contractions or whatever. But I’ve figured out a solution: we’ll be fine as long as I don’t come,” Harry says in a rush. 

Jeff hesitates for a second, absorbing Harry’s words. Either the room is spinning or he’s dizzy from whiplash. “Harry, I dunno...I don’t think I’m comfortable having sex if you’re not gonna, you know, enjoy it?”

Harry grips Jeff’s shoulders urgently. “We don’t need to have sex. Or like, penetrative sex. You can jerk off and I can live vicariously through your dick. Besides, I just ate dairy, I’m not a complete idiot.”

Jeff takes a deep breath and kicks that unpleasant reminder right out of his brain. “So, what exactly do you want?”

Harry bites his bottom lip, the skin around his teeth turning a muted pink. His voice drops half an octave, practically purring. “Just what I said. Wanna watch you. And help.” He starts to slowly run his hands over Jeff’s chest, stopping to thumb at his collar bones, and then again lower, slipping under his shirt. 

Jeff lets himself get lost in it for a moment, relishing in the intentional way that Harry’s touching him when it’s been absent for so many months. He enjoys everything that Harry gives him—spooning before bed, a flirty ass grab or two, Harry tracing his eyebrow with a pointer finger—but Jeff has missed this. Harry’s eyes are on his, watching, assessing. They light up when Jeff inhales sharply as he tugs at some of his chest hair. 

“So. What do you think?” Harry asks.

With a groan, Jeff looks up at the ceiling, looking for divine guidance, anything to help him figure out what to do here. He doesn’t doubt that Harry is telling the truth; Harry isn’t one to say things he doesn’t mean, no matter the context. But the whole idea isn’t sitting quite right with Jeff, despite his body screaming at him to just get on with it already. Part of his enjoyment is making sure that Harry feels good, too. However, he also knows how futile it is trying to deny both Harry and himself, so he swallows and nods. 

They’re quiet as they head down the hall hand-in-hand, and quieter while Jeff unceremoniously strips down to his boxers, Harry watching him like a hawk. 

On their bed, with Jeff settled in between Harry’s legs, he checks one last time. “Are you sure this is okay? I promise, I’ll be fine. We can just go to sleep.” 

Harry smiles like he’s in on a joke that Jeff isn’t privy to. “Yes, I want this. I’m still allowed a little bit of intimate attention, you know. I just have some temporary limits. You on the other hand…” 

Harry’s grip is warm and sure over the fabric of Jeff’s underwear as he grasps Jeff’s dick, half-hard already. The tiny bit of contact has him groaning and dropping forward, hands on either side of Harry’s head. This is going to be over in an embarrassing amount of time if he doesn’t stall a bit. 

“Jesus Christ,” Jeff mutters. “I—you. Get naked. You need to be naked.” 

Harry doesn’t need to be told twice. He sits up and peels off his shirt, shaking his hair out after mussing it up when he gets his head stuck in the neck hole. 

“Very sexy,” Jeff says. 

“Be quiet and help me get these jeans off. We might need to get the lube, they’re so tight.”

His jeans do prove to be a struggle; they’re a pair that used to fit perfectly pre-pregnancy, but are now on the far end of too snug. The waistband was being kept closed with a hair tie wrapped around the button, while Harry’s newly thicker thighs have been stuffed rather indelicately into the legs, forcing Jeff to quite literally peel them off of him. 

Once they’re off, though, Jeff can’t resist getting his mouth on the reddened indents and lines they left behind on Harry’s skin. The inner seam. The ripples where his pockets were pressed too tight. Faint stitch marks on his hip bones. They all fit right in with the more permanent marks that have taken up residence on Harry’s body, the tiny pinkish-purple stretch marks that litter his middle and backside, shiny in their newness. 

Jeff’s willpower is being tested as he continues his journey with his mouth and is confronted with Harry’s hardness right in front of his face, covered by gray briefs that do nothing to hide the tiny wet patch where he’s leaking. 

Jeff settles on gently biting at the crease of Harry’s groin, smirking at the gasp Harry lets out in response. 

“This was supposed to be my show,” Harry reprimands, but the effect is ruined a bit by his heavy breathing. 

“It’s your birthday.” Jeff kisses just to the left of the dark trail of hair under Harry’s belly button, letting his tongue dart out to taste clean skin. 

Harry’s throat bobs on a noisy swallow. “Are you gonna jerk off for me or what?”

Jeff kisses up Harry’s ribs, nipping along the way, gentle little bites that won’t leave a mark but have goosebumps rising to the surface in his wake. He stops when he reaches the curve of Harry’s chest where his nipples are dark pink and standing at attention, perkier than ever. All of Harry’s bodily changes have been wonderful but Jeff has a secret hierarchy and they’re definitely near the top. But he doesn’t know how Harry would feel about him getting his mouth on them, as he’s started to complain recently about how sore they are. 

He sighs, jokingly put-upon. “If you insist.” 

It’s truly not a hardship at all, though, to sit up and kneel so Harry has a proper view and take himself in hand. Stagefright has been a recurring issue for most of Jeff’s life, but it’s absent now as he starts to stroke himself, focusing on the shaft to start and easing himself into it, twisting his wrist in a practiced motion. Nothing too rigorous yet, just an easy slide.

After a few minutes Jeff picks up the pace but otherwise doesn’t change anything, occasionally closing his eyes when it gets to be too much: too much sensation, too much of Harry’s pleased, hungry expression assaulting his retinas, laid out beneath him in all of his convex glory. 

It’s delightful to catch the way Harry’s breath hitches when he figures out what Jeff is doing: touching himself the exact way that Harry likes to be touched, tight and slow, intermittently pausing at the top to swipe his thumb over the slit. Their gazes on each other turn more heated and frantic. 

Maybe Jeff should feel self-conscious, putting himself on display so openly. Maybe he should be worried about how he looks, if the angle is flattering or if the lighting is okay, since they never bothered to turn any of them off. Helplessly, he’s making more noise than he usually would, especially since he’s technically doing all of the work himself. But all of the circumstances have him shaken up and jumbled so thoroughly that he’s managed to land in an organized pile of confidence and comfort. It’s Harry he’s doing this for, because he asked Jeff for it. He wants to see it and hear it and be here with him. His green eyes are everywhere, never staying in one spot too long, switching from where Jeff’s hand is working, to his face, to where their thighs are touching in spastic bursts.

Nerves? Jeff doesn’t know what nerves are right now. He’s preoccupied with the tightness in his pelvis and the friction of his hand on his cock. Harry wets his lips with his tongue, breathing heavily, even though his hands haven’t even moved towards his own dick, but instead are resting reassuringly on Jeff’s knees. 

Suddenly, he stops Jeff mid-stroke, curling long fingers around his wrist and sitting up the best he can, only to bring that same hand to his mouth and lick Jeff’s palm. He makes a rumbly noise of satisfaction when it’s thoroughly wet and then some, admiring his work for a second before looking coyly from under his lashes. “Told you I’d help,” he says and releases Jeff’s wrist.

Jeff’s whole body throbs, his balls tightening in warning as a low moan escapes his chest without warning. “You evil, _ evil _child.” 

When he wraps his hand back around himself, Harry follows, molding his hand around Jeff’s and guiding him into speeding up his movements. It’s better now that there’s a bit of slip from Harry’s spit, and Jeff doesn’t even care that it’s gross because not only can he feel it, he can _ hear _ it, these tiny wet sounds that activate the dirty-hot part of his brain and have him hurtling towards the edge. 

Harry’s face turns smug, and Jeff tries to brace himself when he opens his mouth to speak but it’s no use. 

“C’mon,” Harry rasps. “Do it. I want you to.” He tilts his chin up, somehow looking prim in his disheveled nakedness, sweaty and pink with his dick left ignored in the crease of his hip. 

A jolt gets sent down Jeff’s spine. He wants to touch Harry so bad, wants to make him moan and writhe and come. _ Soon_, he tells himself. Just a few more months and then they can sneak in handjobs under the covers after the kids are asleep, a domestic wet dream of a not-so-distant future. 

His eyes drop to Harry’s belly, the perfect curve of it and he can’t help the wave of primal possessiveness that washes over him seeing Harry pregnant with _ his _ babies. It’s not something he entertains often as it rouses a cocktail of awkward and shameful feelings within him, but right now it’s what gives him that final shove into the mind-numbing pleasure of covering Harry’s front with his come like some sort of perverted baptism.

“Fuck, I—_God_. Oh my God,” he stutters in between sharp exhalations and grunts. His vision whites out for a second or two, everything blurry and out of focus except for the unmistakable whine Harry releases like _ he’s _ the one coming.

Jeff shakes his head, works on getting his bearings back, trying to steady his rapid breath and release his death grip on Harry’s thigh. He wishes he kept his eyes closed as he watches Harry swipe his hand through the mess, and Jeff has to deal with the painful twitch his dick gives in a valiant attempt to start round two while round one isn’t even fully finished. Aftershocks are still making him buzz and float, every single feel-good chemical in his brain flooding his system at once and sending sparks through his veins.

Come has started to slide into the shallow divot of Harry’s belly button that hasn’t quite popped yet, and back down the opposite slope, pooling in the slight dip of his sternum. Making sure he has Jeff’s attention, Harry delicately brings his come-covered fingers to his mouth and starts to lick everything up until every last trace of it is gone. 

“Happy birthday to me,” Harry sing-songs. 

Jeff laughs and shakes his head. “You’re ridiculous. Sexy, but ridiculous.”

They cuddle up close together, even though they’re both sweaty and gross and as soon as Harry rolls onto his side, he gets half-dried come all over their sheets. Laundry can be dealt with tomorrow, though, because Jeff is sleepy and sated, ready to drop off once they clean up a bit and move out of the wet spot. For now, his concern is running his hands up and down the length of Harry’s spine, trailing over the smooth spots and the bumps and curves, even daring to dip his fingers into the gentle taper where the cleft of his ass begins. Harry’s eyes are closed, a small smile playing at his lips. 

“I’ll get a washcloth in a second. Don’t wanna move right now.” Harry’s voice is muffled, his face half-smushed into the pillow under his head. 

Jeff can feel where Harry is still half-hard against his thigh and his muscles twitch with his desire to touch him, but he knows that’s not what Harry wants right now. 

“Clock is ticking. Pretty soon we’re gonna be glued together,” Jeff teases.

Harry just snuggles closer, draping a leg over Jeff’s hip the best he can with his belly in the way, humming contentedly. “That’s fine,” he murmurs, sounding halfway to sleep already. “Might be nice. You can carry me everywhere. I’ll cling like a koala.”

“Okay, weirdo. If you say so.” 

The truth is, that doesn’t sound half bad at all. It wouldn’t be practical, easy, or comfortable. But the inconvenience would be worth it. They’re not perfect and they both have their moments, driving each other crazy sometimes, but they’re in it, together, ridiculously in love and ready to conquer the world—even if it means doing it one simple, small thing at a time.


	5. Let Cool and Enjoy

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - March 23, 2020

“What do you think?” 

Jeff surveys the newly-painted walls around them. Once a lackluster off-white, they're now a sage-like color that considerably cheers the room up. After seemingly endless swatches and samples, Harry finally made a decision when Jeff put him on the spot at Lowe’s the other day, settling on Nurture Green. Jeff thinks he chose it for the name more than anything, but it really is a nice color. 

“I like it,” he says. “Very nurturing. Very zen. Definitely conducive with dirty diapers and screaming at all hours of the night.”

Harry, with his hands on his hips, gives Jeff a sidelong glance. The threatening nature of it is only partly diminished by how ridiculous he looks in his paint-spattered t-shirt and denim overalls that don’t quite fit over his belly (one of the shoulder straps is left undone and hanging down). 

“Well _ I _ think it looks wonderful. They’re gonna love it. We need to get a chair to put in the corner over there, though, so we can sit with them.”

Jeff already has a few ideas for that but he doesn’t want to ruin the surprise, so he keeps them to himself, simply nodding in agreement. Without any curtains or furnishings yet, the room is a bit too bright and open, but if Jeff concentrates hard enough, he can picture it: two cribs by the window, a table in between, and Harry sitting in a rocking chair with two babies snoozing on his chest. He finds himself smiling at the thought, already reaching out to Harry and putting his hands on either side of his stomach. 

He seems to get rounder by the day, like someone has been secretly using a bike pump to inflate him every morning. Except it’s not air under his skin; only recently the bump has gone from relatively soft to a defined hardness, letting them both know that the babies are well and truly in there, taking up space and getting closer to the end of their lease of Harry’s uterus. It’s comforting to touch, even if Jeff still can’t feel any kicks or movement from the outside yet. 

“We can go furniture shopping soon. Just let me know which day.” 

Harry puts his hands overtop of Jeff’s, guiding them a bit higher up near his belly button, which has _ finally _popped and turned into an outie. “You get out early Friday, right?” he asks, looking at Jeff but not quite looking at him, his focus clearly on something else.

“Yeah. Should be home by two.”

“Good. It’s a date, then.” Harry pauses, his brows furrowing slightly. “One of them is like, up under my ribs or something. It’s making it a little hard to breathe. And then the other one is right on top of my bladder.”

Jeff snorts and sweeps his thumbs back and forth over the spots Harry described. “The trials and tribulations of creating life.”

Harry narrows his eyes at him playfully. “You have no idea what it’s like. My feet hurt. My ankles are swollen. I look like one of those scratch art paintings with the amount of stretch marks on me. I pee every time I sneeze or move too fast. And you get to walk around, not dealing with _ any _ of that. Jesus, don’t look so _ smug _about it.”

Jeff doesn’t mention that he found hemorrhoid cream under the bathroom sink or that he knows Harry did more than pee _ just a little _ when they watched _ Bridesmaids _ the other day and he got up to change his pants for ‘no reason’ after laughing so hard he went silent. 

“I’m not smug. I’m very happy you’re doing this, if I don’t say it enough already. And you look cute when you’re grouchy.”

“You know what’s gonna make me even grouchier? If I don’t have lunch.” Harry pats Jeff’s cheek before slipping by him and heading down the hall. 

Lunch ends up being a buffet of sorts: assorted leftovers, pickle spears dipped in honey mustard which Jeff absolutely does _ not _eat but watches Harry do so in abject horror, and half a package of grocery store mini cupcakes. 

Jeff is a fan of food and eating, but he’s never seen anything quite like pregnant Harry with a craving. 

“Please put the pickles away before I throw up,” Jeff says, frowning.

“They’re delicious, don’t be rude.” Harry takes a bite of another one and chews obnoxiously.

Jeff makes another face before going to the sink to wash his plate. He’s just picked up the sponge when he hears Harry behind him trying to talk through a mouthful of pickle.

“Oh! I almost forgot to tell you. We have an appointment Saturday.”

“Okay.” Jeff nods and squeezes out some dish soap. Harry hadn’t mentioned it previously, but it doesn’t matter, as Jeff didn’t have any other plans that day besides making sure that Harry doesn’t buy any more baby socks or onesies. 

“It’s kind of an important appointment,” Harry says, clearly leading somewhere. 

“I mean, I think they’re all pretty important. Right?”

“Well…” Harry trails off. 

He’s silent for so long that Jeff turns back around to look at him. “What?”

Harry shrugs, a hint of left dimple making an appearance. “It may or may not be the type of appointment where we go over the birthing plan.”

Up until this very moment, Jeff has taken everything about this journey in stride. The pleasant things. The less-than-pleasant things. The scary things and the undeniably joyful things. However, this is something that he’s tried very hard not to think about: not because he’s worried about being scarred for life or grossed out, but because he is supremely worried that Harry is going to turn into some crunchy-granola monster and insist that he give birth in a natural spring pool surrounded by healing crystals or something. A bit unfounded, yes, but still a valid concern. 

Harry’s been rather avoidant with the doctors so far, and the only real mention of The Final Act was when he vehemently assured Dr. Avery that he would like to avoid a c-section by any means possible after being asked if he would like to schedule one. That brief conversation was a couple months ago, when everything still felt fresh and new and exciting, which is not to say that those feelings don’t still apply. But now reality is starting to creep closer and closer as the sand in their hourglass fills up the base. 

Jeff’s tongue is stuck to the roof of his mouth, but he manages to say, “Uh huh.”

Harry’s left dimple grows more pronounced. “I want an epidural, I think.”

“You do?” Jeff can’t keep the disbelief out of his voice. 

“Don’t act so surprised,” Harry laughs, good-naturedly. “I’m not exactly thrilled at the prospect of painful contractions and pushing two whole tiny humans out of my body. _ Two_.” 

“I dunno! I just thought...maybe you’d want to do it like, all natural. In water. Wearing a beaded necklace.”

Harry rolls his eyes. “No thank you. I’d like this to be as painless as possible. And I want to make sure that everything happens in a safe, controlled environment. _ Not _to say that people who choose to do it naturally or in a tub or something are being unsafe, I would just rather we eliminate any potential risks. I just want them out safely.”

The way he says the last part is so soft and gently assured, it nearly knocks Jeff off his feet. Of course Harry would never do anything that might put the babies in harm’s way. He realizes how silly his original worries were, and even though he’d likely follow Harry’s lead, no matter what, he’s glad things seem to be on a path he can support wholeheartedly. The babies might be half Jeff’s, but Harry is the one whose body is being put through the ringer. It’s only fair that he calls the shots on how it’s done. 

“That’s good, then. An epidural sounds good.” Jeff keeps nodding until he probably resembles a bobblehead. 

“Like, I’ve read both sides of the argument, and I think that it’ll be better? I just don’t wanna pass out or something from pain.” 

“Reasonable.” 

Harry slowly stands up from the table, only wobbling for a second, and ambles his way over to Jeff where he boxes him in against the sink. “And I want to do lamaze. With you.” 

Jeff sighs but he can’t fight his smile, lacing his fingers together at the small of Harry’s back, even though it’s a bit of a stretch now. “Of course.” 

“Are you just gonna keep agreeing with whatever I say?” Somehow, despite being taller, the effect of Harry looking at Jeff from under his lashes isn’t ruined. 

“I absolutely am. I’m not trying to poke the bear right now.” 

Harry scoffs, mock-offended. “I’m not a bear.” 

“Listen, kid. I moved your shampoo bottle by accident the other day and you had a meltdown. I thought you were gonna threaten to divorce me.” 

Harry pinches Jeff’s hip lightly. “We’re not even married yet, jackass.” 

“Yeah, well. You’d marry me just to divorce me.” Jeff softens it with a kiss, just to the left of Harry’s mouth. 

“Don’t move my shampoo, then,” Harry says, eyes bright and playful.

With their babies between them and Harry looking at him like that, Jeff can only laugh.

***

Los Angeles IVF Clinic - March 28, 2020

“I swear, they could fill up an entirely new person with all the blood they’ve taken from me.” Harry has a neon pink bandaid stuck to the inside of his elbow. 

Jeff isn’t exactly sure what tests they’re running anymore; there have been so many that’s he stopped keeping track. All he knows is that he’s eternally grateful he’s not the one they have to keep sticking with needles or examining rather intimately. 

“They should be paying you reparations,” Jeff says seriously. 

There’s a quick knock at the door before Dr. Avery comes in, her hair pulled up into a sleek bun today. 

“Hello, hello. How are you doing today, boys?”

“Oh, you know. Same old,” Harry says with a smile, rubbing a hand across his belly. 

Dr. Avery starts leafing through the papers attached to her clipboard, eyes quickly scanning across what Jeff assumes to be Harry’s charts. 

“Good. No real changes, then? You’ve gained a bit of weight since I saw you last. Perfectly normal. And your blood pressure looks great, too.”

“I try to walk a lot, in the mornings or at night. It depends on what shift I work. But I think it helps me, like, de-stress,” Harry says.

“Fantastic. And work is good? I know you’re on your feet quite a bit.”

Harry sighs. “Yeah, but it’s not that bad. I got those jelly insoles for my shoes and they’ve changed my life.”

Dr. Avery nods. “Well, everything here looks perfect to me. You’re healthy, babies are healthy. Their measurements from your most recent scan look great. Now, do you have any idea how you might like them to be born? What’s your due date…” She flips a few pages and uses her pointer finger to trace over the various lines and boxes, but Harry beats her to it. 

“June twenty-sixth.” One of Harry’s hands makes the short journey to Jeff’s lap, where his own hands are folded together. He worms his way in between them and squeezes. 

“That’s right. Two little summer babies,” Dr. Avery says with a smile. “You haven’t scheduled a c-section, correct?”

“Uh, I think I’d still like to deliver ventrally, if that’s possible.”

For some reason, this still shocks Jeff a bit. He’s not sure why, given that Harry has already expressed his preferences, and considering Harry’s occupation. He probably has a laundry list of reasons why he’d rather have a natural delivery versus major abdominal surgery. But the idea of Harry swearing and sweating while he delivers twins really hasn’t settled in Jeff’s brain yet. 

He’s been reading the books and doing research online. He knows that there are quite a few factors that go into labor and delivery, especially with multiples. The positions of the babies matter, as well as the condition of the placenta, cord compressions, and all sorts of other things that had him feeling dizzy when he thought too hard about them. 

Dr. Avery doesn’t seem phased by Harry’s request at all. “As long as the babies aren’t breech and there aren’t any other complications, I don’t see why you wouldn’t be able to successfully deliver both twins, nice and healthy.”

Her words fill Jeff with a sense of calm. If she’s confident, then he can be too. He trusts Harry; after everything, he thinks it’s only fair that their faith in each other has been restored. 

“Great. That’s—great,” Harry breathes, clearly relieved. 

“Were you thinking of any holistic approaches? Because I highly recommend doing it in a hospital, rather than at home, with—”

“Oh God. No. Definitely in a hospital,” Harry laughs. 

“Very smart. We can set you up with all of that at a later date. Any special requests? Like a suite? I know that there are some hospitals that are very accommodating, and offer some really beautiful rooms with birthing pools and things like that.”

Harry looks at Jeff and raises his eyebrows, a playful smile taking over his face. “No, no. Just, like, whatever is going to be the most simple. ” 

Jeff sticks his tongue out at him, quick, so that Dr. Avery doesn’t see how immature they really are and decide they’re unfit to be parents or something. Harry bites his lip to stop himself from laughing and has marginal success.

“Easy peasy, then,” Dr. Avery says, clearly not paying attention to their shenanigans. She jots something down in Harry’s file.

Harry squeezes Jeff’s hand again, schooling his face into a more serious expression. “I just don’t want it to be a whole thing. I want as little fanfare as possible. Just go in, get them out safely, and go home. You know?”

“Perfectly understandable. I wish more of my patients were like you. You’re a dream!”

“Yeah, that’s because you don’t live with him,” Jeff says flatly.

Harry’s answering smile is deadly sweet. “You always say the nicest things, Jeffrey.”

Dr. Avery glances between them amusedly. “If you don’t have any other questions or concerns, I’ll let you two get out of here. Tiffany at the desk will schedule your next appointment and she can help you set up your hospital stay.”

“Thank you,” Jeff and Harry say at the same time. Their eyes meet and they both immediately burst into laughter. 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - March 31, 2020

Jeff wakes the same way he does most days: too warm, with Harry attached to him like a barnacle. 

Try as he might (whether he’s conscious or not) he always tries to put some amount of space between them—not to be cruel or because he doesn’t enjoy Harry’s company, but because Harry gives off heat like a human space heater. Jeff is tired of starting every morning sweaty and rushing to get the covers off himself. 

This morning, however, is more middle of the night. A bleary glance at his phone reveals that it’s just past 2AM. 

For once, it’s not Harry accidentally kicking him or getting up to pee that’s disturbed his slumber. Rather, it’s the almost unbearable warmth _ and _the little nudges against his ribs that have him staring at the ceiling with wide eyes, carefully keeping himself as still as possible. 

He debates the merits of waking Harry up when his sleeping schedule has been so terrible lately, from the nerve pain in his legs and the dizzy spells that hit him out of nowhere. As it stands, he’s currently drooling on Jeff’s chest, snoring and blissfully unaware of the mild panic Jeff is experiencing. Because he thinks that the little nudges—where Harry’s belly is pressed firmly against his side—are the first kicks he can feel from the outside. 

Jeff waits a few minutes, barely breathing and focusing as hard as he can, before he finally makes an executive decision. 

A gentle shake seems to do nothing, as Harry only snuffles a bit and cuddles closer. Jeff tries a whisper, but again, Harry is still dead to the world. 

At a more normal volume, Jeff says, “_Harry_. Babe, I’m sorry, but—”

He’s cut off by a loud groan and Harry stretching. “What do you _ want_?”

Under normal circumstances, Jeff would revel in Harry’s crankiness and wind him up even more. But now is not the time. In his displeasure at being woken up, Harry has rolled away from Jeff just enough that he can’t feel the movement from his belly anymore and he desperately wants it back. 

“I know, I’m deeply sorry. I just—I felt something.”

Harry turns his face into his pillow, muffling his voice. “Felt what? The need to ruin the good dream I was having?”

“_No_, you were practically on top of me and I think I felt—”

Harry’s eyes shoot open as he lets out a little laugh that stops Jeff in his tracks. 

“What?” Jeff asks. He’s trying to explain himself, but as per usual, _ someone _is being difficult. 

Except his frustration dissolves when Harry looks at him, starry-eyed and cupping his middle. “One of them just kicked me right in the bladder. Excuse me a moment, need to use the bathroom.” 

He’s already pushing himself up and out of bed but Jeff stops him with a hand wrapped around his wrist. “Yes! Wait—just, wait. That’s what I was trying to tell you. I felt it,” Jeff says in a half-rushed jumble. 

Harry gives him a funny look that’s accentuated by the moonlight that’s casting his face in shadows. “Last I checked, you’re not the one who’s pregnant.”

Jeff shakes his head. “No, not like that. I felt it earlier, like, against my side. You were sleeping. That’s why I woke you up, because I wanted to ask.”

“Are you sure? Because _ usually _ movement can’t be felt from the outside until _ after_—oh. _ Oh_. Jeffrey! You felt them?” Harry’s voice practically goes up an octave as he visibly vibrates with barely-contained excitement. 

“Yeah! I only tried telling you like, nine-hundred times.”

Harry shuffles close and sits on his heels, tugging his sleep shirt up and holding it to his chest with his chin so he can grab Jeff’s hands. “Here. Try talking to them. Or like, tap your fingers. Sometimes they move around if I do that.”

With Harry’s hands overtop his own, Jeff taps out a little beat against Harry’s bare skin. “Hello in there. You woke me up. But don’t worry about it, I’m not mad. Just stop kicking your dad in his organs, please. He needs those.”

Jeff feels Harry’s laughter before he hears it, a quick snort followed by a chuckle. “Keep going. They like you talking to them.”

“They do?” Jeff asks, eyebrows raised. 

Harry squeezes Jeff’s hands. “Of course they do. They’re gearing up again. Move up a bit—yeah. Right there.”

Jeff holds his breath. For some reason, he’s sweating, like he’s taking a test he’s worried about failing. Except after a few moments, he feels it: a barely-there flutter against his palm, and then quickly after, another one, stronger and more pronounced. 

When he looks up, Harry’s eyes are already on his. “Now you’ll know when they’re saying hello back,” Harry warbles. 

Jeff is beaming. His happiness is probably visible from space, shining like a beacon. “Are you gonna cry? Wait, are you _ already _crying?”

“_No_...yes. I’m sleep deprived, okay? My hormones are all over the place. _ I _have an excuse. You, however…”

It’s true. A tear has already made its way down Jeff’s cheek. He’s not ashamed. In fact, Harry is the one always going on about how crying is manly and the sexiness of vulnerability. 

“I think it’s warranted, don’t you?”

Harry nods before he puts their foreheads together. “I’ll allow it.”

More flutters and kicks make their presence known until both Jeff and Harry are scratchy-eyed and fighting sleep. Reluctantly, Harry uses the bathroom like he originally intended to do, and they settle back in bed, with Harry claiming his rightful spot as the little spoon and Jeff holding him from behind, his whole world in his arms right where it should be.

***

Crystal Visions Yoga - Anaheim - March 26, 2020

“Breathe _ in _through your nose, using your diaphragm, and exhale through your mouth, like you’re trying to blow out a birthday candle. That’s it!”

Their instructor, Tracy, is a middle-aged woman who likes to wear big dangly earrings and tie-dye leggings. Her light brown hair is pulled into pigtail braids on either side of her head. She says things like ‘Your aura is amazing’ and ‘Staying connected to the Earth is important’. Harry absolutely adores her. 

Lamaze has been an...interesting experience thus far, at least for Jeff. Lots of yoga balls and aromatherapy. He’s pretty sure he heard something at their last class about a perineum massage that piqued his interest for a whole five seconds before Harry was asking Jeff if he would help him contort into some pretzel-like position that’s supposed to be good for his back. 

Evidently today’s class is all about breathing. It’s actually not all that different from Jeff’s own wheelhouse of calm breathing techniques: in two three, out two three. But Tracy is having them practice a few different types of breathing, some for early labor and others for active labor. Jeff sincerely hopes there isn’t some type of quiz at the end, because he’s already confused about the difference between slow breathing and light accelerated breathing. 

Harry, however, appears to be in his glory, sitting with his legs crossed and his back straight, eyes closed as he smiles through exhaling for three beats. There’s some type of flute music with waterfall sounds emanating from an unknown source in the room that’s really just making Jeff want to take a nap, but he stays seated in his spot next to Harry and tries his best to follow the instructions given to them. 

They practice breathing for a little while longer, until Tracy urges everyone to their feet and claps her hands together excitedly. 

“So we have two more things left to do today, but first, I have a special surprise for all of the supporting partners.”

Judging by her tone and grin, Jeff guesses it’s a surprise he’s not going to like very much. A quick glance at Harry’s face confirms this. 

“I’ve been waiting for this,” Harry whispers, looking too smug for his own good. 

All of the non-pregnant people in the room are given a backpack of sorts, but instead of being worn the traditional way, they’re told to attach it to their fronts and make sure it’s secure. Easy peasy. Jeff understands the purpose of the activity right away. One by one, the pregnant partners around the room add five pound weights to the inside of the backpacks until the total combined weight is thirty pounds. 

Jeff bends his knees a bit, testing the heaviness. It’s nothing crazy, but it does force him to lean forward a bit, only to catch himself and lean back to compensate. His shoulders hurt a bit where the straps are digging into him, and his lower back is starting to twinge a bit. If he’s honest, he really just wants to sit down. 

“Most people gain anywhere between twenty-five and thirty pounds during their pregnancy. It’s slower in the beginning, but by the second trimester, you should putting on one or two a _ week_. It’s hard, supporting all of that new body mass, especially when it’s mostly concentrated at your middle. Try moving around a bit, test your mobility, and think about how _ you _can take the backpack off if you want, but your partner cannot.”

Jeff turns his attention back to Harry. “Do you want me to start holding your belly up for you? I’ll do it. I’ll follow you around everywhere.”

Harry shakes his head and rubs his thumb over Jeff’s cheek. “That won’t be necessary. This is enough payback. Although...maybe I can ask to bring this setup home. Make you wear it when you’re annoying me.”

“_When _ do I annoy you?” Jeff tries to bend over and touch his toes like he sees some of the others doing. He has minimal success. The backpack is very _ in the way_.

“Keep moving, Jeffrey. You need to really understand what it’s like to carry children,” Harry says, not bothering to hide his smirk. 

So Jeff wiggles around some more, doing some lunges and side leans—even a jumping jack for good measure before he decides that one is enough. Harry watches him the entire time, looking enamored and smitten. Jeff is struck for the millionth time by how lucky he is. 

“Not easy, right? Now, I’m sure you may have noticed the chairs in the back of the room. Why don’t you have a seat and try to tie your shoes.” Tracy leads the class to the row of folding chairs and starts pointing people to their spots. 

Harry is positively gleeful. “You’re gonna love this. Too bad you can’t fully experience what it’s like to have your intestines squished because you have a baby on your spleen.”

***

Anaheim & Orange - April 4, 2020

Jeff finds himself growing increasingly frustrated as he visits store after store, only to be left empty-handed. 

At twenty-seven weeks, Harry is uncomfortable, and that’s putting it lightly. His ankles are swollen. He gets up to pee every ten minutes or so, and getting up is a production itself; his belly gets bigger by the day, it seems. Even Dr. Avery noted that he’s carrying quite heavy for a first time pregnancy (or at least their first time getting this far).

According to Harry, all of the bad things about being pregnant are outweighed by the good. He’s thrilled to know that his body is happy to be accommodating two little lives. The babies have eyebrows and eyelashes. They’re starting to suck and swallow in preparation for life outside of the womb, and can taste the food that Harry eats. They can pee, too, which Jeff doesn’t like to think about, but is fascinated by nonetheless. They can smell, see, and hear. Their hearts beat regularly instead of spontaneously, which can now be heard with a stethoscope instead of only through the ultrasound machine. And their little eyes are even starting to blink open. 

So many things have changed since they were just two tiny gray specks on a black backdrop. Instead of being worried about the end and wanting to postpone it indefinitely, Jeff wants the whole process to speed up, so Harry can stop being miserable and they can meet them already. 

The nursery is almost done and only needs a few more things like curtains and some wall decorations. Jeff is in the process of organizing a baby shower that Harry doesn’t know about yet. They have the hospital bag all ready to go, equipped with snacks, changes of clothes, a camera, toiletries, books, an extra phone charger, and everything else in between. 

But none of those things can help the fact that Harry has barely been able to sleep lately and spent the majority of the previous night in tears over the cramps in his legs and the babies kicking him. That’s why Jeff is currently scouring all of the stores in their general vicinity for a suitable body pillow to maybe help him get comfortable. 

Walmart left him empty-handed, as did Bed Bath & Beyond. He’s been trying to avoid Target at all costs, but it looks like he’s going to have to risk leaving with twenty more items than he originally needed. Harry’s sleep depends on it. _ Jeff’s _sleep depends on it.

He strikes gold in the bedding section. Finally: a u-shaped pillow with contoured cutouts, thick and plush and absolutely ready for Harry to curl his pleasantly tumescent body around. 

He feels a bit ridiculous standing in the checkout line, but he’s pleased that he was able to avoid temptation and didn’t peruse the rest of the store like he wanted. The cashier tells him the total cost (he threw in a package of gum for good measure) but he doesn’t hear it, distracted by the desire to get home as quickly as possible and give Harry his gift. 

Except Jeff gets sidetracked on the drive back. He thinks about the rocking chair he saw as he passed by the baby section on his way to the registers. It was nice enough, but he wants something really special. Something that will stand the test of time, and can be passed down to future generations. 

There’s a furniture store a little off his route, but he finds himself taking the exit to get there, Harry’s pillow riding in the backseat. It’s a small, family-owned store that he’s purchased pieces from before, like the table in the kitchen under the window. He knows Harry’s been looking online for some type of chair to put in the corner of the nursery, but Jeff has secretly been hoping that his pickiness would keep him from making a selection long enough to give him this opportunity. 

The front door of the shop has a little bell that jingles when he opens it, and after a few seconds, an older gentleman appears from the back room. 

He has hair that’s starting to gray around his temples and a slightly round face. “Hello there,” he says. “Can I help you with anything?”

Jeff is usually the type to say ‘no thank you’ even if he does actually need help, but today he shuffles a bit from foot to foot and replies, “Yeah. I, uhm. I’m looking for a rocking chair.”

“Well, you’ve come to the right place then. Any preference on wood or style?”

Jeff looks around. He hadn’t really gotten that far yet in terms of what he’s been picturing. Mostly he just wants something comfortable that Harry will like. “Uhh. Not sure.”

Like the man can sense Jeff’s predicament, he laughs and offers a hand to shake. “No worries. I’m Paul, by the way. I’ll show you some different options and you can figure out what you might want.”

Jeff feels like a weight has been lifted off his shoulders. “Thank you. I’m Jeff.”

First thing on the docket is deciding what style of chair Jeff likes best. Paul shows him a few different ones: the presidential, the Jefferson, the classic adirondack, one that glides, and even one that reclines. 

“A presidential rocker is probably considered the most classic type. It’s simple and functional. But if you want something a little more fancy, a glider is nice, too. You can add cushions. But it all depends on what type of trim level you want. In my opinion, though, sometimes simple is best.” 

Jeff considers the different chairs in front of him. He tries to picture each one in the nursery: how the light might hit this one, what that one will look like with Harry perched on the seat. 

“I like this one, but I’m not sure about the wood. It might be a little too dark.”

“That’s a mahogany with a dark stain. For any type of chair, you want to use a hardwood because they’re stronger and more durable. This one—you can change the style but use this type of wood. It’s a nice antique oak.”

“And how long would it take to be made?” Jeff asks. He’s sold already. 

“About a month and a half, give or take.” Paul smiles at him, fatherly and kind. 

That’ll work out surprisingly well. They still have just under three months to go, if Harry can make it to his due date (though they’ve been warned multiple times that twins usually come a little earlier). 

Jeff smiles back. “Great. That’s—that’ll be perfect.”

“Baby on the way?” Paul asks.

“Uh, two. Twins. Identical, according to the doctors.” Jeff’s chest puffs up a bit, his insides swelling with pride. He likes being able to tell people instead of keeping secrets. 

“Congratulations, then. How exciting. I’m sure your wife will be very happy with such a nice gift.”

“Boyfriend, actually. We decided to do things backwards and have kids first. I’ll ask him to marry me when he stops complaining about his jeans not fitting.”

It’s always a risk, correcting people when they make assumptions, especially about something like this. No matter how accepting and progressive you might think someone is, you never truly know what the reaction might be. 

But Paul’s smile doesn’t waver. “Forgive me. He’ll love it, then.”

Jeff nods. He really hopes so. He doesn’t even care that this is likely going to take quite the dent out of his bank account. 

Paul points a thumb at the front desk and register. “Should we get you rung up? I’ll print you out a slip and we can set up shipping or a pick up day.”

“Sounds great.”

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - May 1, 2020

Jeff thinks he’s been transported back in time when he comes home from work to find the living room couch made up into a makeshift bed. 

Blankets are everywhere. Pillows. Sheets. It looks like their linen closet threw up all over their furniture and floor. 

Harry, however, is nowhere to be found. The only sign that he’s home is Florence + the Machine playing from the stereo speakers. 

Jeff ventures down the hall, calling out a tentative, “Babe?”

In the nursery, Harry is sitting on the floor amongst a mess that’s similar to the one in the living room. He smiles as soon as he sees Jeff standing in the doorway. “_Hi_. C’mere, help me up so I can kiss you.”

Jeff carefully steps over the folded piles of baby clothes and extends a hand. “What’re you doing?”

Harry stands up with a grunt and a huff. “Well. After you left this morning I went out to breakfast with my mom but I must have eaten something that didn’t agree with me, because my stomach felt all weird. So when I got home, I wanted to take a nap, except I couldn’t get comfortable in bed? Even with my big pillow. I moved to the couch and that helped a little, but then the Braxton Hicks contractions started and I gave up entirely and decided to _ organize _.” He’s out of breath by the time he’s finished speaking.

“Organize,” Jeff repeats dubiously. “Didn’t we already organize everything in here, like, a few weeks ago?”

“We kinda just put things in drawers. But today I’m working on sorting things by season. I think it’s more practical.”

Jeff nods and rubs his hand across Harry’s flannel shirt-covered belly. “Mhm. You do what you need to do.”

Harry’s smile turns impossibly warmer as he looks down at where Jeff is touching him. “They’ve been very active today, but I think they’re sleeping now.”

Jeff taps out the little beat with his fingers that he’s turned into a habit, just to let them know he’s there. “Lazybones. Both of them. It’s almost dinner time.”

“I wish they’d wait a little while so that maybe I can actually fall asleep at a reasonable time tonight. They must be nocturnal or something.” 

“We’ll light your mood candles and play soothing music. That seemed to help last time. Or I can let you borrow my noise-cancelling headphones and you can watch one of those ASMR videos you like.”

Harry finally gives Jeff that kiss he promised, warm and soft and perfect. He even stops to nose at Jeff’s neck for a moment, scenting him like he’s started to do more often now that he’s really in the thick of being pregnant. “You’re the best. I knew there was a reason I keep you around.”

“Do you need any help with...all of this? I can fold some stuff.”

“No, no. Go get changed. I left out some comfy clothes for you. _ Well_, I actually raided your stuff for these sweatpants. But that’s beside the point.”

“I thought those looked familiar.” Jeff kisses Harry again, lingering for a few extra beats. “Mm. All right. I’ll start cooking in a little while. That okay?”

“Absolutely. I’m _ starving_.”

*

Harry keeps tossing and turning and is making the whole bed shake with his incessant wiggling. After the fifth time Jeff is jostled hard enough that he’s yanked out of sleep, he rolls over and faces Harry and finds him wide-eyed and sticken. 

“What’s the matter?”

“I _ hate _ this,” Harry says on a sharp exhale. “These stupid contractions won’t stop, my back hurts, and I feel like I can’t _ breathe_.”

Jeff swallows. There have been a few moments like this already, but it still never fails to surprise Jeff when Harry is so openly frustrated. 

“I’m sorry, sweetheart. You’re almost at the end. Just a few more weeks.” 

With gentle hands, Jeff does his best to soothe Harry by rubbing circles over his back. From what Jeff has been told, false contractions aren’t necessarily painful, but are often likened to menstrual or pre-heat cramps. As for Harry’s other discomforts, Jeff supposes they’re par for the course when thirty-one weeks pregnant with twins. He just wishes there was more that he could do to help. 

Harry’s face turns pinched for a moment, like he might cry. But after a deep breath, he visibly pulls himself together. “I’m fine,” he assures in a wobbly yet calm voice. “I am. It’s just a lot sometimes. I know it’s all worth it.” 

Jeff’s heart clenches at his determination. “Space must be getting pretty limited in there, huh? Remember the last scan? They’re huge now. No more plums or artichokes. They’re...well, mini people.”

For all of the effort Harry put into not crying, Jeff’s words seem to send a wave over him. A happy wave. He smiles as he chokes out a wet laugh. 

“The chart says they’re the size of melons. Honeydew, I think.”

That would certainly explain the almost frightening distendedness of Harry’s belly. Jeff would never say this out loud but he can’t help but worry an alien is going to burst through Harry’s stretched skin some days, like a scene out of a sci-fi movie. 

“Well, you better hope they don’t get any bigger or you’re gonna explode. A honeydew is max cap. We can’t have any watermelon babies.”

“You try to tell them that. They seem to think it’s appropriate to keep growing like weeds. My organs can’t take it.” Harry stretches a bit and sighs. 

Jeff scoots down the bed a bit so he’s mostly face-level with the rounded curve of Harry’s middle, peppering him with kisses and delighting in the way he twitches a bit from the scratchiness of his stubble. 

“Kids, we need to have a chat. Just the three of us. Pay no mind to the beanstalk that’s housing you.” Jeff glances up quickly and snorts at Harry’s offended face. He continues, “Now, you have a few weeks left in there, then things are gonna be a little different. No more swimming around. You’re gonna have to wear clothes, and—”

“You’re really selling it,” Harry says, grinning. 

“_Listen_, I’m working my way up to it. What I was _ going _ to say is that I’m very excited to meet them. I don’t remember my time inside the womb, and I’m sure it was great, but I want them to be excited about like, being born and stuff. Living out in the open air.” 

Harry’s tears have returned. He scratches his fingers through Jeff’s hair and sniffles. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. I know they have a bit more baking to do, but I’m ready.” He means it, too. Everyone says that no one is ever _ really _ ready for parenthood, and there’s likely some truth to it. But Jeff knows that for all of his apprehensions and irrational worries, he can do this. They _ both _can. They’ve worked so hard to get here, it would be silly to think otherwise. 

“What do you think they’ll be like?” Harry asks, voice crackly. 

Jeff blows out a stream of air through his lips. “God, I dunno. Wonderful. Amazing.”

He gave up on not wanting to jinx things a while ago, but he realizes that he still hasn’t thought much about this outside of his swirling thoughts when adopting was still on the table. There are so many possibilities of what their kids might be like: thousands upon thousands of different ways that his and Harry’s DNA could have come together to create the lives in his belly right now. So far, they have a rough idea of what they look like, from sonograms and a 3D imaging scan that Jeff _ still _thinks looks like mashed potatoes with eyes. They know the baby that likes to wedge themselves under Harry’s ribs doesn’t kick as much as the baby that likes to stay right under his belly button. They know that they’re in there—well and truly—and that they seem to like music and when Harry dances. 

That’s a handful of things already and they haven’t even been born yet. Jeff is excited to learn everything he possibly can once they’re here, in their arms. 

“I think so, too,” Harry says. “They’re gonna be special and kind and just—all of the good things that I can’t think of right now.”

“I hope they take after you,” Jeff admits quietly. 

Harry’s eyebrows rise up on his forehead, like he’s somehow shocked by this. 

Jeff shrugs and continues. “You make me happy. You’re like, my all time favorite person. Of course I want our kids to be like you.”

Harry pulls Jeff back up so they’re face to face again. “I hope they’re like _ you_. I’m the luckiest person in the world because of you. You’ve given me _ this_,” Harry says, gesturing to his belly.

Jeff’s cheeks heat. “That’s not—I barely did anything. You’re the one doing all of the work.”

“You’ve stuck with me, through everything. You’ve been good to me when I didn’t deserve it. And you’re gonna be the _ best _ father. I know it.”

Jeff ducks his head under the intensity of Harry’s gaze. He needs to deflect, change the subject to something that doesn’t make his insides feel ready to explode with elation. “Yeah, well one thing I hope they don’t inherit is your—” But before he can finish his thought, he notices something. 

It appears as though Harry’s eyes aren’t the only things leaking, as there are two distinct wet patches staining the chest of his shirt. And he’s pretty sure it’s not tears. 

Jeff isn’t sure if Harry has noticed yet or not, so he doesn’t know if he should ask about it or not. As far as he’s aware, this is the first time that Harry has leaked colostrum, unless he has already and opted out of informing him (unlikely, considering he’s chronicled every bodily change thus far, no matter how unpleasant). 

Harry ends his dilemma before it really begins, though, when he follows Jeff’s line of sight and discovers it himself. “What—I. Oh, _ Jesus Christ_. Look what you did!”

Jeff scoffs. “_Me_?! How did I do it?”

“You—you got me all emotional! It must have triggered something!” Harry nearly shouts, flapping a hand at Jeff.

“Maybe your nipples are just overly sensitive. Did you ever think about that?”

Harry’s face quickly transforms into a glare. “Don’t be _ rude_.” 

Jeff puts his hands up in surrender. “I’m just saying. It’s true.”

“If you want to so much as _ look _at these nipples again, you need to watch your tone,” Harry says haughtily. Well, as haughtily as one can when crossing their arms over their leaking chest.

“Do you want a clean shirt?” Jeff asks.

Harry sniffs. “Yes, please.”

Jeff climbs out of bed and pauses with one knee still on the mattress to lean down and kiss the top of Harry’s head. “I hope our kids are little punks, just like you.”

***

967 Briggs Road - Stanton - June 6, 2020

One of life’s simple joys is surprising people with good things—whether a birthday party, a gift, or a homecoming. But in Jeff’s individual opinion, there are few things that are better than making Harry Styles’ face light up with unadulterated bewilderment upon walking into a baby shower at his mom’s house. 

Harry was invited over under the guise of a lowkey lunch. In actuality, Jeff, Shelli, and Anne have all been coordinating the shower for weeks now right under his nose. Judging by his expression, he never caught on to the hushed phone calls and email correspondences with the bakery and flower shop that Jeff tried his best to keep under wraps. 

“What’s all this?” Harry asks, his eyes already watering. 

“Surprise!” everyone says in unison. Jeff’s family is here, along with a few of their neighbors (only the ones they like), and some of the people who work with Harry in the ICU. 

The decorations are simple: streamers in green and yellow, letter balloons that spell out ‘Oh Baby x2’, and a handful of flower arrangements spread out across the room. A pile of gifts has taken up residence next to the table where the cupcakes that Jeff special ordered have been artfully arranged on a tiered platter. 

Harry spots Jeff in the crowd and makes a beeline for him. “Did you do this?”

Jeff’s hands naturally gravitate to Harry’s waist once he’s stood right in front of him. “I had a little help from our moms, as much as I’d like to take the credit.”

“I can’t believe this. You—I _ wasn’t _gonna cry today.” Harry’s lower lip starts to wobble, the muscles in his cheeks twitching as he tries to keep it at bay. He’s smiling, though, as he gently holds Jeff’s face and leans in for a kiss that has the whole room whistling and whooping. 

Jeff blushes and ducks his head when they pull apart, never having been a fan of being the center of attention. 

“All right, everyone. Grab a plate. There’s plenty of food so don’t be shy,” Jeff says. 

While everyone is focused on the buffet setup, Jeff takes the opportunity to speak with Harry, minus the audience. 

“So, you like it?”

Harry clumsily wipes under his eyes and nods. “Of course. I had no idea, and then when I walked in and saw everything...I’m so happy. Thank you.”

They mingle for a bit. Jeff trails behind Harry like a puppy, as everyone congratulates them and touches the bump. Harry is literally glowing—for all he’s complained that the TV shows and movies making pregnancy look like this magical experience are lying, he certainly fits the part right now. 

Jeff is happy, too. He’s pleased with the turnout. He’s thrilled that everything seems to be going off without a hitch. The food is great, the cupcakes are better (even if Harry swipes a bit of frosting on his nose). Jeff tries not to use the word too often, but the day is...perfect. 

There’s just one thing he still wants to do, but he’d like for it to happen in private. 

Harry is in the middle of chatting with their neighbor, Christine, when Jeff politely requests that he steal his attention for a moment. Once in the hallway and away from all of the noise, Jeff says to Harry, “I have something I wanna show you.”

Harry’s smile doesn’t waver. “Okay.”

Jeff opens the door to the guest bedroom and lets the reveal speak for itself. Silence stretches between them as Harry takes in the sight in front of them: in the middle of the room, with a yellow ribbon bow tied around the back, sits the rocking chair Jeff had made. 

It turned out even better than he could have imagined. The wood is smooth and sanded to perfection, all of the curves and body contours elegant in their simplicity. He can tell that it was crafted with precision, knowledge, and love. It’s exactly what he wanted and more. 

Jeff nudges Harry with an elbow. “What do you think?”

Harry turns to look at him with his mouth hanging open. “Jeff…”

“It’s nice, right? I got it from that place on Main Street. A lovely gentleman named Paul made it.”

Harry continues to stare at him with wide eyes that occasionally flick back to the rocking chair. Now Jeff is starting to worry a bit, like he hit a wrong button and made Harry glitch. 

“So, uh. Do you like it? I can get something else if—”

He’s cut off by Harry’s mouth on his when Harry lunges for him, cupping Jeff’s face firmly in between his warm hands, forcing Jeff to stumble back a bit while he gets his footing. 

Harry pulls back, putting a fraction of space between them, still close enough that Jeff can’t quite focus on his features. “Jeffrey Azoff, you’re the best man I know,” Harry says, resolutely and leaving no room for argument, before kissing Jeff again, this time with a bit of tongue. 

Dazedly, when Harry turns his attention to the skin below his ear, Jeff says, “You never answered my question, you know. If you like it or not.”

Harry pinches his earlobe, and not in a sexy way, either. “Don’t be ridiculous. You—of course I like it. I _ love _ it.”

“How was I supposed to know that? You went silent.” Jeff slides his hands from around Harry’s waist to rest on either side of his belly, firm and delightful.

Harry looks unimpressed. “Don’t fish for compliments, it’s not attractive.”

Jeff smiles even wider. “Shall we return to our guests? We still have to open gifts.”

“I say we steal more cake first.”

“Excellent plan.”

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - June, 18 2020

Jeff is a simple man. If he smells bacon, he’s going to wake up and make his way to the kitchen even if he’s half asleep as he does so. 

It’s early enough in the morning that it’s still barely light out: that hazy in between where the nighttime sky hasn’t quite left yet, but sunlight is trying to break through. The house is quiet and calm. 

Harry is at the stove, using a spatula to push some scrambled eggs around. There’s a paper towel-covered plate with perfectly crispy bacon on the counter to his left. 

Jeff yawns before he says, “G’mornin, weirdo. What’re you doing?”

Harry turns around as quickly as possible for him, as he’s taken on the form of a human-sized grapefruit with legs, limiting his speed and mobility. “Making breakfast!” he says, sounding far too cheery for just after 6AM. 

“Is there a special occasion I forgot about or something?”

The smile that takes over Harry’s face is only a tiny bit disconcerting. Jeff’s pretty sure his eye actually twitches.

“No! Just felt like cooking. I made pancakes, too. Chocolate chip. They’re staying warm in the oven. Here, sit down. Eat.” Harry shuffles Jeff into a chair at the table and goes about fixing him a plate, ignoring all of his protests and offers to help.

With an absolute mountain of food in front of him, Jeff notices that Harry failed to get himself any food, but instead, is staring at Jeff unblinking and looking only a little bit crazy. 

Jeff tentatively picks up a fork and cuts into a pancake. “Are you gonna eat, too? Or just stare at me like you’re thinking about harvesting my organs?”

Harry laughs, cracked and thin. “Me? I’m not hungry,” he says quickly. 

Jeff nods, chewing thoughtfully. His pancake is delicious: sweet and buttery and with just the right amount of chocolate. He tries to focus on eating and ignore Harry’s odd (even for him) behavior, but finds himself staring back at him, watching the way his expression flickers from frighteningly delighted to something that resembles pain. It’s fleeting, but Jeff sees it happen twice more before he finally says something. 

“Are you okay? You’re looking a little pale…”

With a quick sigh and hasty wipe of his brow where he’s started to show signs of sweating a bit, Harry assures, “I’m fine. My stomach just feels a little funny.”

“I told you not to eat that ice cream last night. You never listen to me.”

Harry shifts on his feet. “Well. I don’t think it’s that kind of funny.”

Before Jeff can ask what that means, Harry gasps and looks at the floor. 

His pajama pants, which are usually a light gray, have gone dark with wetness in between his legs, almost to his knees. Some of it is even dripping onto the tile, leaving little puddles pooling around his socks. 

Jeff, with his fork halfway to his mouth, asks, “Did you just pee all over the floor? Please tell me you just peed all over the floor.”

Harry looks at him with wide-eyes, like a very pregnant, curly-haired owl. “I think...I think my water just broke, if I’m honest.”

“What do you mean _ you think_?” Jeff can’t help the way his voice is shaking already. He puts his fork down before he drops it. 

“_Well_, I can’t very well know for sure, since I’ve never experienced it before.”

Jeff keeps flicking his gaze between Harry’s face and the wet floor. Harry’s in labor. His water broke and he’s _ in labor_. 

“Are you, uhm. Contractions? Time? I—” Jeff feels like someone just popped his head off and shook it all around, his brain successfully scrambled. 

Harry uses both of his own hands to cup underneath his belly. “They started around two, I think. I didn’t wanna wake you up, because I thought they might have been Braxton Hicks again. But They’ve gotten closer together, like, a little?”

Jeff stands and starts pacing, unsure of what to do with himself. “Hospital? Yes. Hospital.”

Harry still hasn’t moved but Jeff grabs the car keys and starts to slip on his shoes. The sun is finally fully out, he notes a bit hysterically. 

“I can’t go _ like this_,” Harry whines.

Jeff pauses, tying his laces. “Harry, no one will care. It’s a hospital.”

“Yeah but _I_ care. My socks are wet. _ No one _ likes walking around with wet socks.” 

It’s a fair argument. Jeff is just incredibly frazzled, and any delay in them getting to the hospital right now feels like a huge risk. He takes a deep breath, grabs Harry’s hand, and pulls him down the hall. 

In the bedroom, he tosses the first pair of sweatpants he can find at Harry, along with a new pair of socks and a clean t-shirt. 

“Help, please?” Harry asks softly.

Jeff helps him strip out of his dirty clothes and into his fresh ones, which is not an unfamiliar task by any means. These circumstances are a little different than some of the others, though. This time, they’re on the cusp of entering a new chapter of their lives. 

Harry, however, seems to have some other preoccupations. “A week early. I’ve barely slept. I haven’t _ shaved_,” he mutters. 

Jeff tries and fails to stop himself from smiling. “Out of all the things to be worried about, you’re concerned about the state of your body hair?”

“Listen, I’m about to have a whole bunch of people become very intimately acquainted with my bits. I think I’m allowed to be a little unhappy about it,” Harry huffs, pulling his shirt over his head. 

Hands raised in surrender, Jeff says, “All right, all right. Let’s just get to the hospital, okay? Before I have a heart attack or something.”

***

UCI Medical Center - Orange - June 18, 2020

“Five centimeters,” a nurse named Matthew reveals pleasantly, like he didn’t just have his gloved hand underneath Harry’s hospital-issued gown. 

“Wonderful,” Harry grouses while pointedly looking at the ceiling. 

His contractions are starting to increase in frequency and intensity, but they’re still too far apart to really do anything. Once he reaches six centimeters, though, they’ll be able to give him the epidural he desperately wants. 

The private room they’ve been set up in is pretty nice, as far as Jeff is concerned. Nothing fancy: just a bed, some chairs, and a whole bunch of machinery that Jeff doesn’t understand. Almost immediately after their arrival they were brought back for an ultrasound that determined both twins are still in good positions for Harry to be able to give birth the way he intended, despite all of his current griping. It’s just a matter of waiting now.

“So, feel free to get up and walk around if you want. Sometimes changing positions can help reduce some of the pain in your back and legs. We’ll wait a bit, check on you in a little while, and go from there. Don’t hesitate to hit your call button,” Matthew says.

Jeff rubs his thumb back and forth over Harry’s wrist. “Thank you.”

Once they’re alone again, Harry closes his eyes and sighs. “This _ sucks_. Remind me again why I didn’t want a c-section?”

Jeff doesn’t want to think about the fact that an emergency c-section is still a very real possibility if some type of complication arises. Instead, he says, “Because you’re a fruit cake. Plain and simple.”

Harry nods, not even putting up a fraction of a fight. Suddenly, his face goes pinched, a telltale sign that another contraction is starting. His lips pull into a frown as his eyes squeeze shut even tighter, and his breath starts to come more quickly. 

“Ow ow _ ow_,” he whimpers. 

All of the classes and books? All of the internet articles and advice from friends? None of them prepared Jeff for the real thing. His heart is beating so fast it feels like it’s going to bust through his ribs and land on the linoleum. He hates feeling so powerless when Harry’s in pain like this, even if it’s the byproduct of something they’ve wanted for so long. 

“Breathe, babe. You gotta breathe,” Jeff says, rubbing Harry’s shoulder with his free hand. 

Harry exhales harshly, blindly reaching for Jeff’s hand and squeezing when he successfully grabs on. It’s only a few more seconds before things start to wind down and he relaxes marginally. He cracks one eye open to look at Jeff, tiredness etched onto all of his features. “I hope this goes by quick.”

*

For a short while, it’s as if Harry has actually willed things into progressing. He dilates to six centimeters in what feels like no time at all, and then the anesthesiologist is called in to administer his epidural. 

Jeff has to close his eyes when he sees the needle, but quickly shakes himself out of it to focus on Harry.

“You good?” he asks. 

Harry, who’s been told to sit perfectly still on the edge of his bed—his upper body propped up by some cushions and the back of his gown open to expose his spine—seems surprisingly calm. His face only twitches a little as he’s injected with the much smaller numbing needle. 

“Yeah, m’good. Just burns a little,” Harry says, scrunching his nose.

Jeff rubs his upper arms, being very careful not to move him at all. He would kiss him, but a nurse handed him a surgical mask before they got started and he’s been told to keep it on while they’re injecting. 

“Okay Harry, I’m gonna use my fingers to poke around your back a bit. Let me know if you can feel any of it,” the anesthesiologist warns.

Harry shakes his head. “Nothing.”

“Great. We’ll let the numbing do a little more work before we start the epidural.”

Some of Harry’s hair has fallen across his forehead, so Jeff pushes it back for him, smoothing it down and rubbing his fingers over his scalp the way he likes. It makes Harry smile.

“If you keep doing that I’ll fall asleep,” he mumbles, eyes already starting to close. 

“Let’s get you all numbed up first. Then you can nap,” Jeff reasons. 

Harry nods and rests his head on his folded arms. The anesthesiologist starts prodding at the skin of his back again.

“Still nothing?” she asks. 

“Yeah, it’s really tingly now.”

The anesthesiologist (Jeff didn’t catch her name earlier and now he’s too embarrassed to ask) nods and grabs the bigger needle from the tray of rather frightening looking instruments. Harry’s back has already been cleaned and prepped, with a sterile dressing surrounding the injection site on his lower back. All that’s left to be done is the final poke. 

“Excellent. This part shouldn’t hurt, but you might feel a little bit of pressure.”

Jeff has to look at the ceiling as the needle is put in, shivering a little at the phantom sensation that runs down his own spine. Morbid curiosity gets the best of him, though, and he glances back down in time to watch as a thin tube is threaded through the needle and inserted in Harry’s back. 

“What’s that?” he asks, eyebrows furrowed. 

“Catheter,” the anesthesiologist says, as she pulls the needle out and leaves the tube in place. “It stays in for the duration, that way we can top him up if it wears off at any point.”

Harry picks his head up, his face pinched in concern. “Please don’t say that. I don’t wanna be at this long enough that it’ll _ wear off_.”

Jeff snorts. “I don’t think it’s really up to you, kid. The little maestros in there are running this show.”

A nurse comes over and starts carefully taping the tube to Harry’s back, keeping it flush and anchored, and then Harry is allowed to lay back down. 

“It should take about fifteen to twenty minutes before the numbing takes full effect,” she says. 

Harry groans. Evidently the contractions themselves are the worst of the pain, but it doesn’t completely subside during the ebbs. He’s uncomfortable for the duration of the wait, but only has one last contraction before he’s blissfully unaware of the mutiny happening in his abdomen. 

“This is weird,” Harry says, almost a full half hour later. 

“Good weird? Is it like when you get Novocaine at the dentist?” 

Harry pokes his own thigh. “Kinda? It mostly just feels like I don’t have legs anymore.”

Jeff shakes his head. “We can’t have that. I happen to like those legs quite a bit.”

“Even with my swollen ankles and ugly vein things?”

“Especially with those,” Jeff assures, without even a trace of irony in his voice. 

Harry rolls his eyes, blushing a bit. “Kiss ass.”

*

It’s four in the afternoon, which means they’ve officially been at the hospital for eight hours. This marks Harry’s thirteenth hour of labor. All Jeff really just wants to do is take a nap, but in solidarity, he’s trying his best to stay awake with Harry, who likely couldn’t sleep if he was given a tranquilizer. 

Things have slowed down considerably. They were warned that the epidural might stall progression for a bit, but neither of them were quite prepared for how much. Time keeps dragging. Harry is growing more and more irritable, and even though he’s no longer experiencing the full pain of his contractions, it doesn’t mean that he’s any less on edge or nervous. He keeps picking at his nails and complaining about not being able to move without assistance (however, he does seem to enjoy that he doesn’t have to get up to pee, thanks to his Foley catheter). 

Jeff tries to keep him distracted, talking about anything and nothing, and providing running commentary on the Lifetime movie Harry is watching with the volume off. Harry doesn’t offer much to the conversation, just nods and listens, occasionally smiling, but he’s otherwise very quiet.

It’s a revolving door of people coming in to check on them: nurses writing things on clipboards, taking Harry and the babies’ vitals, making sure all of his tubes and wires are still in place. 

Seven centimeters comes and goes, and then eight decides to hang around for a while, leaving them right at the edge with the horizon in sight, but not quite there yet. 

“Eight’s good, babe. Just two more and then you’ll be good to go,” Jeff says, trying for cheerful. 

Harry levels him with an unimpressed stare. “Easy for you to say. _ You _ don’t have to do any work, meanwhile I’m sitting here sweating my ass off and I haven’t _ done _anything yet. I can’t even feel my legs!”

Jeff’s lips start to curve up without his permission. “I’m sorry. What can I do? Tell me and I’ll try to make it happen.” He’s a _ businessman_. Whatever outlandish request Harry makes, Jeff will do his best to see it fulfilled. 

Picking at the blanket on his lap, Harry considers this for a moment. “Well. I kinda want to talk to my mom. And I’m a little hungry,” he says quietly. 

“Done and done. Which, by the way, maybe we should start telling people what’s going on?”

“If you can talk someone into getting me some food that isn’t ice chips, I’ll make all the phone calls,” Harry offers, suddenly in much better spirits. 

Jeff offers his hand for Harry to shake, who takes it eagerly. “You have yourself a deal,” Jeff says, and seals it with a kiss on Harry’s slightly sweaty forehead. 

It’s fairly quiet in the hall. Jeff isn’t quite sure what he was expecting but he thought there’d certainly be more people screaming in agony whilst in the throes of delivery. But he’s not about to complain about the relatively peaceful atmosphere. 

He spots the nurses’ desk and makes a beeline for it. 

“Hi, I’m with Harry Styles in room three-sixteen, and I was wondering if he could have something to eat?”

The nurse in pink scrubs smiles at him politely. “Unfortunately his options are gonna be pretty limited, since heavy or solid food isn’t allowed. But I can see what we have for popsicles or jello?” 

“A popsicle should be good,” Jeff says. He knows that Harry and gelatin don’t really get along, after a Halloween party a couple years prior that ended in vomit and tears after one-too-many jello shots. 

The nurse disappears into a back room for a few moments, and returns with a few different choices. “Purple, red, or orange?” she asks, holding them up. 

“Red. Thank you.” Jeff takes the offered popsicle and returns to the room, where Harry now has Jeff’s phone pressed to his ear. 

“No, not yet,” Harry says. “Yeah, he’s right here...I know.” 

Jeff raises his eyebrows in question. With an eye roll and a smile, Harry puts the call on speaker and puts the phone face-up on his lap. Anne’s voice fills the room, tinny and a bit muffled. 

“You’re comfortable, though? Those beds can be terrible sometimes. Your back is gonna be a mess after. Mine was. Thought I might never walk again, but that might be because you were born almost nine pounds and—”

“_Mom_.”

“Oh, I’m sorry honey,” Anne laughs. “I’ll be up in a bit, though, depending on traffic.”

“Okay. Love you.”

“I love you too. See you soon.”

Harry ends the call and lets out a long sigh, slumping back against the pillows. 

“I come bearing gifts. Well, one gift,” Jeff says. He hands the popsicle to Harry, who looks at it and then looks back up at Jeff. 

“So I can have _ flavored _ice…”

Jeff snorts. “It’s better than nothing, right? I got you red because the only other ones they have are grape and orange.”

“You’re the best. I don’t know if I’ve said this to you today, but I like you a lot.” Harry unwraps his snack and carefully takes a bite right off the top. 

Jeff winces a bit but doesn’t comment. “You like me? That’s all?”

Harry chews for a second, his lips already turning a delightful shade of red. “Yeah. Well, I guess I like, love you or whatever.” 

Jeff wishes he could lay down next to Harry, cuddle up close and hold him like he’s been wanting to all day. But the bed likely isn’t big enough and he doesn’t want to get in trouble with the nurses for being up there and potentially pulling Harry’s IV or one of his monitors. He still feels the ache in his bones, this nagging desire for physical contact. 

He drops back down into the seat next to Harry’s bed and puts a hand on his hospital gown-covered belly, warm to the touch even through the fabric. Under his palm, he can feel the occasional twitch or ripple from a contraction that Harry evidently can’t feel, still happily munching on what’s left of his popsicle. 

“So your mom’s on her way?” Jeff asks. 

“Not yet, but she will be later. She knew why I was calling as soon as she picked up the phone. Apparently she had a _ feeling _all morning.”

“I suppose we should call my parents. And my sisters. Do you have earplugs ready?” 

Harry rests his free hand overtop of Jeff’s. “We’ll make sure the volume is down. Hopefully the people down the hall won’t be alarmed by all of the screaming.”

Before Jeff can think of a retort, he notices that the readout on the machine tracking Harry’s contractions starts to print out a graph that’s a bunch of wild zig-zags. Jeff doesn’t need to be an expert to know that whatever is happening to Harry’s stomach and uterine muscles isn’t good. However, Harry’s face doesn’t show any outward signs of discomfort. 

“That was a big one,” Jeff notes.

Harry licks the remaining juice from his popsicle stick rather indecently for someone who’s in labor. “You have no idea how fantastic this epidural is. Beside the fact that I can’t feel my junk, it’s great.”

“I’m happy for you,” Jeff laughs. “Now, why don’t we give my dad a heart attack and let people know what’s going on.”

Harry’s grin is infectious. “Let’s tell him it’s actually triplets.”

*

At 6:17PM, Jeff and Harry are informed that Harry has finally made it to the nine centimeter mark, and that his dilation seems to have picked up considerable speed. Harry’s epidural gets topped up, as the effects were starting to taper a bit and Harry was _ not _happy, but things are looking good again. For a few minutes, at least. 

With this new dose of medication, Harry is no longer calm or collected. He’s shaking and his teeth are chattering uncontrollably, which evidently is a normal side effect but it doesn’t make Jeff feel any better about it. All he can do is hold Harry’s hand and tell him he’s doing great. 

“I know it’s super crunchy, but I really wish we were at home right now,” Harry whispers, tensing up for another round of intense shivering. 

Jeff rubs his thumb over the back of his hand. “Me too, babe.”

“Like, I’m happy we’re here. And that we have doctors and nurses around in case we need anything. I just—I want our bed, you know?”

Jeff’s insides do a little wobble. He still loves hearing Harry talk like that, about things that are _ theirs_, together. 

“I know what you mean. If you didn’t have tubes coming out of fifty different places, I’d crawl up there with you.” 

Harry closes his eyes, smiling the best he can with the way his whole body keeps spasming. “You’re not gonna break any hospital rules? Don’t be a weenie, Jeffrey.”

“Hey—” Jeff starts, but gets cut off by the arrival of one of their nurses, Matthew. 

“Hello again. I’m here to see how things are moving.”

Harry gives him a lazy wave. “Do whatever you want down there. I don’t even care at this point.”

Matthew smiles good-naturedly and slips on a pair of gloves while he positions himself at the end of Harry’s bed. After a few minor adjustments (moving Harry’s body closer to the bottom edge and getting his legs up with Jeff’s assistance) he starts his checkup. In an effort to pretend like there’s a shred of modesty left, Jeff turns away and watches the hand on the clock tick as the seconds go by. 

He whips back around as Matthew announces, “Great news! You’re at ten.”

“Ten?” Harry’s voice has slipped up an octave. 

“Indeed. We’re gonna do one last scan to make sure both twins are still vertex and then we’ll get you in the OR for delivery.” Matthew peels off his gloves and tosses them in the trash bin. “I’ll call Dr. Avery to let her know, okay?”

Jeff swallows and nods. They’ve had all day to prepare for this. Nine months, really. But it’s all happening now. It’s not just some elaborate daydream or the ponderings of what’s to come. It’s _ real_.

“Ten?” Harry repeats. 

“You’re good, H. Everything is gonna be fine.” Jeff leans down to kiss the top of his head and rub his shoulder. 

“But—what if I can’t do it?” Harry looks up at him with eyes like saucers, his lower lip taking on a more pronounced wobble than before.

“What do you mean? You’ve got it in the bag, babe. I have complete faith in you.”

“It’s gonna _ hurt_.”

Jeff sighs, unsure how to navigate this topic when it’s clear that Harry might not be the most reasonable right now. “Well...yeah. But you knew that going in. You’re gonna be great. I know you; you’re a tough cookie.”

Harry doesn’t look fully convinced but he nods anyway and tilts his face up for a kiss, which Jeff is happy to oblige. 

With their foreheads pressed together, Jeff quiets his voice, so only Harry can hear him while people move around them to set up the ultrasound machine. “Are you ready? I’m _ so _ ready. We’re gonna meet them. _ Today_.”

Harry exhales shakily, warm against Jeff’s mouth. “I’m ready,” he says, sounding more sure of himself. “Let’s do this.”

*

Before they bring Harry back, Jeff gets fitted into his OR attire which consists of a coverall jumpsuit, a surgical mask, and a cap for his head. All very fetching, according to Harry. 

It feels like an unnecessarily large procession, as they wheel Harry out of their room and begin the journey down to the surgical wing. They pass by various patients and staff. Some of the nurses and doctors wish them well. But Jeff keeps his eyes on Harry’s, staying tethered to him like a ship to its anchor. 

The OR is very bright and a bit intimidating. Littered around the room are various pieces of medical equipment, but perhaps more importantly, two clear plastic bassinets have been set up with blankets draped over the sides. The sight of them makes Jeff’s heart swell up like a balloon in his chest. He squeezes Harry’s hand, which he’s already been holding onto rather tightly. 

There are a lot of people in the room as well: Dr. Avery, two different pediatricians, and a team of nurses for each baby. Because they’re having _ two_. 

Harry gets wheeled into the middle of the room, where everything has been prepped for them: towels, gauze, and plenty of other things that Jeff can’t think too hard about right now. The final ultrasound revealed that in the span of a couple hours, Baby B decided to shift positions and is now breech. Baby A, however, seems to be staying put in an optimal vertex position. They’ve been given the go ahead to continue with delivery as planned, but there are new precautions and steps for the babies to be born safely. 

Dr. Avery, who is in an outfit extremely similar to Jeff’s own, greets them with a pleasant smile. “Hello, boys! Are you ready to have some babies today?”

Harry lets out a little nervous cackle, his cheeks instantly blooming pink. “Think so,” he mumbles.

Jeff rubs his hand up and down Harry’s forearm, careful to avoid the tube for his IV. “We’re ready,” he says, trying to sound more confident than he feels. It’s not that he isn’t ready, or that he thinks Harry isn’t, this is all just very new and a little scary. But he wasn’t lying when he told Harry that he has complete faith in him. 

“Great. I know that Baby B moved on us, but we can work around it. Everything is gonna go great. Now, Harry, we’re here to help you. But what I need from you is to listen to your body and remember that you’re strong enough to get through this, okay?” 

Harry, who has turned white as a sheet and grabbed for Jeff’s other hand to clutch it in a deathgrip, nods enthusiastically. 

Dr. Avery has him do some practice pushes, refreshing his memory on the muscle groups that are going to be needed. She reminds him that with the addition of an epidural, it’s gonna feel different than what he might have expected, practiced at home, or practiced in birthing classes. Harry follows instructions like a champ, even though he’s clearly incredibly uncomfortable, his face drawn tightly with sweat dotting his forehead and temples. Jeff feels a bit useless, just standing around and watching, but he does his best to offer encouragement and praise when he can. 

When Dr. Avery announces that it’s now the real deal, Harry is scooted to the edge of the bed. Jeff helps one of the nurses get his legs into the stirrup-like rests, and watches with faint amusement as another nurse uses medical tape to keep Harry’s dick up and out of the way, thinking that he’s lucky his sensation below the belt is gone, otherwise he’d be mortified. Once Harry is successfully settled, though, Jeff returns to his spot by Harry’s head.

“Okay, Harry. Next contraction I want you to just breathe down. Nothing heavy. Baby A still needs to work their way down a bit,” Dr Avery says. 

Harry’s breathing is exaggerated—big inhales in through his nose, and big exhales out through his mouth. Privately, Jeff thinks he looks a bit like a pufferfish with how his cheeks keep blowing up, but he simply tells him that he’s doing a wonderful job already. 

This, what Dr. Avery calls _laboring down_, continues for a little while longer. Jeff remembers it from one of their lamaze classes; it helps aid progression more naturally when someone gets an epidural, and therefore can’t necessarily feel the rhythm and timing of their contractions, in addition to making sure the person in labor doesn’t get too tired early on. 

After about twenty minutes, Dr. Avery lets them know that things are looking good and puts Harry in the clear to start pushing. 

“I’ll let you know when you should be pushing, but don’t be afraid to listen to your own body. Like now, a contraction is about to start. Can you feel it?” 

“It’s like...I can feel a lot of pressure, but that’s it,” Harry says, eyebrows furrowed in concentration. 

“That’s good. Pay attention to that. Your own body is your best guide. Okay, here we go. Use your muscles. _ Bigggg _ push. There you go.” 

Harry reaches out blindly as he levers himself up, tucking his chin to his chest, face scrunched up and red with exertion. Jeff grabs Harry’s flailing hand in both of his own, squeezes, and presses his mouth to Harry’s ear. “So good, babe. You’re a natural.” 

With a huff and a little laugh, Harry falls back against the pillows after the contraction ends. “Fuck, this is hard.” 

Everyone in the room laughs with him. 

Dr. Avery, who is also grinning, gently reminds, “And this is just the beginning! You’re doing great, though. If you keep up like this, everything should be over relatively quick.”

*

Two hours later, Jeff wishes she hadn’t said anything at all. 

Harry is no longer in such good spirits. Sweat now covers almost every inch of his body, and he’s exhausted and growing increasingly weary the longer he pushes and pushes with no end in sight. 

Jeff’s hand has gone numb from the force of Harry squeezing it, but he keeps reminding himself that it’s only a fraction of the pain Harry is in. 

The first fifteen minutes of pushing were near silent, aside from Harry’s heavy breathing and the titters of encouragement from Jeff and the medical staff. 

Now, it’s a whole different story. Harry is vocal about his discomfort, grunting loudly, cursing and yelling. 

He’s in the middle of a push, letting out a steady stream of nonsense sounds as he squeezes his eyes shut, when he shakes his head and whimpers, “I can’t. I can’t anymore.” 

A nurse catches him before he can lay back entirely, and guides him back up with some assistance from Jeff. His whole body shakes as he forces his chin down again and groans loudly through his teeth. 

When it’s done, Jeff is quick to push Harry’s wet hair off his forehead, to cup his warm cheek and thumb away the lone tear that escapes. He pulls down his surgical mask to kiss Harry. It’s a little salty from all the sweat, and a tad stale since they’ve been here at the hospital for so long. But it’s better than their first kiss. It’s better than their first kiss when they officially moved in together. It’s better than the kiss they shared after the ultrasound appointment when they found out they were having twins. He feels more connected to Harry right now than he did when they first sealed their bond. 

From between Harry’s knees, Dr. Avery says, “Another big push and I think Baby A will start crowning!” 

Harry closes his eyes and breathes for a moment, his eyelids starting to droop.

Jeff presses his lips to the side of Harry’s head, right next to his ear. He whispers, “You can do it, kid. C’mon. You’re almost there.” 

As if he’s pulling strength and energy from yet-untapped depths inside himself, Harry somehow manages to rally, sitting up a little straighter and squaring his shoulders as much as he can in his current position. 

Jeff is instructed to help pull one of Harry’s thighs back as a nurse on the opposite side does the same with the other. He’s not exactly sure what it’s meant to do, but when he spares a glance down where Dr. Avery is intently focused, he sees a tiny patch of what he thinks is one of their baby’s heads. 

The contractions start to blend together; just as one ends, another begins, and Harry gets little to no rest in between. But Dr. Avery and the nurses continue to urge him on, providing encouragement and praise. Jeff feels like his head is on a swivel, constantly glancing back and forth between Harry’s face and watching between Harry’s legs. He doesn’t understand the notion that it’s gross to look at or whatever other things people say about childbirth; it’s amazing. _ Harry _is amazing. Jeff wants to pepper him with kisses but he’s busy, straining with effort as he works through yet another contraction. 

“Baby’s crowning!” Dr. Avery says enthusiastically. 

There’s no denying it with the way Harry nearly screams. But when Jeff checks, the baby’s head isn’t out yet. So Harry pushes again with no luck. Over and over until finally, on his fifth try, their baby is almost fully in the world. 

Jeff is crying before he can even make sense of it. He doesn’t want to look away, but he has to talk to Harry. 

“I can see them,” he whispers against Harry’s lips. “Babe, I can see them.”

Harry seems to be in some kind of daze, but he perks up a bit at Jeff’s words. “Yeah?” he slurs, before immediately lifting himself for another push. 

Down below, their baby is about a quarter of the way out of Harry’s body. Their tiny face is covered in what looks like thick, opaque white paste, obscuring most of their features for now, but they’re the most beautiful thing Jeff has ever laid his eyes on. The breath is literally knocked right out of his chest as he stares at them, transfixed. 

Dr. Avery’s voice is muffled, like Jeff is under water. “Shoulders next, Harry. Nice and easy. Let me help you do some of the work now.” 

It’s with significantly less force that Harry curls forward for his next push, letting Dr. Avery guide the shoulders out with a steady, firm hold on the baby’s head. Then, quick as lightning it seems, the little curled up frog body of their baby is being placed on Harry’s chest. 

Immediately, the amphitheater of the OR is filled with the shrill cries of a newborn. The baby’s arms and legs are jerking erratically, not used to being out in the open air, but they settle when they’re finally tucked close into Harry’s neck. 

“Oh my God. _ Oh my God_,” Harry keeps repeating, words almost indistinguishable with how hard he’s crying. Happy tears. The _ best _kind. 

“Baby A is a little boy,” one of the nurses says. 

“A boy,” Jeff barely manages to get out as he chokes on a sob. 

He has a son. He and Harry now have a _ son_. Or whoever they might choose to be someday. It doesn’t matter to him. He’s absolutely over the moon with happiness. 

“Hi, baby. Hello. You’re okay. Look at you. I love you so much,” Harry is saying, and Jeff feels like he could burst. He leans down, blinking quickly to clear the tears from his eyes, so he can stare at this tiny human that he helped create in complete awe. 

He’s bright pink and wiggly and so small but he’s _ perfect_. Absolutely perfect. Jeff tells him as much, and it starts Harry up on a whole new round of crying. 

“Look at him,” Jeff whispers, reverent and already so, _ so _in love. Harry nods, using a finger to gently stroke over the baby’s newly-clean cheek. 

“I love him so much. He’s so beautiful,” Harry weeps, his voice hoarse from all of his earlier yelling. 

The nurses finish cleaning the baby off while he’s still resting on Harry’s chest, rubbing him down with towels and clearing his nose and mouth with a bulb syringe. But after a few minutes—not nearly enough time spent with him—a nurse gently requests that they take the baby.

“We just have to weigh him and assess his Apgar score. Give him his shots. Stuff like that. Then you can have him for as long as you like,” she says to Harry, who’s holding him very protectively. 

It’s with great reluctance that Harry lets him go, but then Dr. Avery reminds him that they have another baby to deliver. First, though, Jeff has to cut the umbilical cord, per Harry’s request. 

In Jeff’s opinion, it doesn’t feel like anything that belongs on Earth—it could maybe pass for some type of slimy bicycle tire, at best. As he uses the provided scissors to snip it between the two clamps, it takes a surprising amount of force. But once it’s done, he feels oddly powerful, like he just did something primal or sacred. 

But the bliss doesn’t last for long, as Harry starts to have contractions again. 

“All right, Harry. This time is gonna be a little different. Baby B needs to be flipped. I’m gonna try by pressing on your abdomen first, and if that doesn’t work, I’ll need to flip them manually,” Dr. Avery explains. 

Harry swallows and nods. With what looks like too much force to Jeff, the doctor and an assisting nurse push down on various spots on Harry’s stomach, like they’re trying to massage the baby into moving. But after a few tries, it’s obvious that they’re going to need to try something else. When Jeff looks at Harry’s face, it’s clear he’s come to the same realization. 

Dr. Avery gives Harry an apologetic smile. “This might be a little uncomfortable, just for a few seconds. Okay?”

“Okay.” Harry turns his wide eyes to Jeff and reaches for one of his hands, in which Jeff easily meets him halfway, taking Harry’s palm in his own. 

He tries his best to distract Harry while Dr. Avery works, cupping his cheek with his other hand, using his thumb to smooth out the crease between his brows as he winces and bites his lip. 

“Jesus _ Christ_,” Harry exhales. 

“You okay?” Jeff asks, despite how clear it is that Harry is _ not _okay. 

With his mouth dropped open and his eyes squeezed shut, Harry can’t even respond. Thankfully it’s over quickly, and Harry lets out a long breath of relief after Dr. Avery’s hand retreats from his lower half. 

“They’re vertex again,” she reveals. “Next contraction, I want you to go nice and easy. No heavy lifting quite yet.”

Obediently, Harry nods and follows her instructions, not even sitting up as he barely puts any force behind his push. 

In the same way that the second viewing of a movie feels like it goes by quicker, the second round of contractions seem to happen in the blink of an eye. One minute, Jeff’s hand is being crushed, and the next, Dr. Avery is letting them know that Baby B is crowning. 

Like last time, her words help Harry tap into a well of strength and determination, as he channels all of his remaining energy into pushing. Aside from a few whimpers of “ow, ow, _ ow_,” and a single “I can’t,” he’s otherwise very quiet and focused. 

“I’m so proud of you,” Jeff says. “You’re _ so _close and then you’re all done.” 

Harry nods again, breathing out quick puffs of air through his lips like he’s trying to blow out a candle. One more push and their other baby’s head is out, covered in the same goo, except this time a thick trickle of dark blood follows and Jeff has to steady himself with the railing of the hospital bed because his knees go liquid at the sight of it. 

He knew that bringing kids into the world is a messy, bodily-fluid covered process, but he wasn’t quite prepared for that. The color drains from his face, leaving him feeling cold and woozy for a moment, but he forces himself to focus. His own discomfort isn’t important right now. What’s important is making sure that Harry knows he’s with him, being present and attentive. 

“Shoulders again, Harry. Just like before,” Dr. Avery reminds. 

Another blink and their second baby is placed on Harry’s chest, quieter than their brother, but just as wiggly. 

“Another little boy,” the same nurse as before calls out. “Congratulations, you guys.”

Jeff is crying again, but this time he’s laughing too. “Can’t believe we did the buy one get one free deal on boys.”

Harry laughs as well, though it’s likely more from exhaustion than anything, as he struggles a bit to sit up, his arms and hands everywhere as he cuddles their second son, whispering sweet nothings in between happy sobs. 

The nurses clean while Harry and Jeff stare in wonderment at their baby, who looks just like his twin. Even though he’s right in front of him, tangible and real, Jeff can’t wrap his head around the fact that these two tiny little things had been in Harry’s belly for almost nine months, baking and puffing up like baby pastries. They’re here, _ finally_, and part of Jeff feels like he’s dreaming. 

They’re given a few more minutes before Jeff is asked to cut the second cord, and then Baby B is taken by the nurses to get the same treatment as his brother, who is now swaddled and waiting very patiently in his bassinet. Well, patiently for a newborn, which roughly translates to crying and generally being upset. 

As Baby B is placed on the scale, the nurse weighing him starts to laugh. “They’re exactly the same. Both five pounds, six ounces. That _ never _happens.” 

Despite being the same weight, though, they soon discover that Baby A is just a tiny bit longer than Baby B. Jeff finds himself standing between their bassinets, trying to evenly split his attention between the two, gently stroking his finger over Baby A’s little nose and letting Baby B curl his tiny fist around Jeff’s pointer finger. He looks up when he hears Harry groan and a few of the staff chuckle. 

“This is the easy part!” Dr. Avery jokes. 

Reluctantly, Jeff leaves the babies to stand by Harry’s side once again, his cheeks sore from how hard he’s still smiling. 

Between Harry’s legs, Dr. Avery is holding what remains of the umbilical cords, carefully putting tension on them while she uses her opposite hand to massages Harry’s lower stomach. Harry closes his eyes and takes measured breaths, rising up every so slightly and only wincing a little as he works on delivering the placenta. 

Jeff places a comforting hand on his shoulder and squeezes a bit, just to let him know that he’s still there. It doesn’t take very long for everything to come out, and it’s immediately placed on a collecting tray, but Jeff once again feels all the color drain from his face as he quickly averts his eyes. Surely losing that much blood should be a serious concern, but Harry seems unphased if not a little pale himself, sighing dramatically with what Jeff assumes is relief. 

The towels and cloths Harry’s lying on are stained a dark red now. Try as much Jeff might, it’s hard for him not to think about the other red stains that have darkened their bed before. 

But he reminds himself that they have two healthy babies here with them right now, brand new and the best prizes they’ve ever won. And they are prizes: ones that him and Harry fought very hard for. He’s so beyond glad their work has finally paid off. 

“You all right?” Jeff asks. 

Harry looks up at him, his face less weary now that he’s not in as much pain anymore. “Yeah. ‘M good. Tired. Still can’t feel my legs. But, uh. Good.” 

Jeff laughs and squats down so he can talk with him face-level. “You absolutely killed it, kid. You’re probably like, the best birth-giver in the history of birthing.” 

Harry rolls his eyes. “You’re ruining the moment, Jeffrey.”

Dr. Avery waits politely for them to finish before she says, “So, no major tearing except for one teeny tiny little spot. I’m gonna stitch it quickly and then we’ll get you back to your room, okay?” 

Good-natured to his core, Harry smiles. “Do whatever you need to do. You could sew a tail on me and I wouldn’t care at this point.”

*

After receiving his three stitches, a final exam, and a quick clean up, Harry is wheeled back to the room with Jeff in tow. 

Every fiber of Jeff’s being is screaming at him to take a nap, to rest for just a few minutes, but an instinctual override keeps him awake and close to Harry’s side. Not even the tectonic plates shifting and splitting could tear him away from him. 

“Hey. You were great in there, babe. Like, really _ really _amazing.”

“C’mere, please. No—like, up here. With me.”

“I—” the protest dies on Jeff’s tongue before he can finish. If he gets yelled at, he gets yelled at. It’s worth it for the way Harry lights up when Jeff carefully climbs on the bed next to him, being mindful of his IV and the pulse ox on his finger. He’s the most gentle he’s ever been, as he slides in between Harry and the railing, and wraps an arm around his still-distended middle. 

“Better?” Jeff asks. 

Harry’s mobility is still limited, but he does his best to cuddle back. “Yes. I missed you.”

Jeff snorts. “I’ve been right next to you the entire time.”

“Yeah, but not like _ this_.”

Jeff will admit, he has a point. It’s nice to be able to hold him like this, when really the only points of contact they’ve had for the past few hours have been holding hands and quick kisses. 

They’re both in desperate need of a shower and some toothpaste, but neither of them care very much. Harry is still sweaty in some places, but most of it has dried by now; strands of his hair are stuck to his forehead or otherwise sticking up at odd angles. His neck smells like warm skin and salt, a little sharp but not unpleasant. Up close, Jeff can see the tiny blood vessels on his cheeks that are broken from the strain of labor. He’s beautiful and perfect and Jeff is so lucky to have him. 

He’s about to tell him as much when there’s a knock at the door. 

“Hello, we come bearing gifts!” 

Jeff quickly sits up and tries to act innocent as a small parade of nurses roll the twins into the room in their bassinets, freshly swaddled and fitted in little white caps. They’re both very quiet and just as wonderful as Jeff remembers. 

“Are we still calling them Baby A and Baby B for now?” one of the nurses, Ingrid, asks. 

Harry nods. “We just want to get to know them a bit first.”

“That’s absolutely fine. And I have a perfect way to get acquainted. You’re planning on nursing, correct?

“Yes,” Harry says. He has his hands folded in his lap like a child eagerly awaiting instruction from a teacher. 

“Great. Why don’t we do this: we’ll get you set up with Baby A, and Dad can take Baby B for a cuddle.” 

Harry swallows and nods again. Jeff gingerly scoots off the bed and stands there rather uselessly for a few moments, unsure what to do with himself. For starters, he doesn’t know which baby is which. 

Thankfully, Ingrid knows what to do. She picks up one of the babies, who’s wrapped up like a little burrito, and turns to Jeff. “Do you want to have a seat?” she asks. 

Jeff drops down into the seat next to Harry’s bed, rubbing his palms over his thighs to get rid of the sweat there. He’s very nervous. His hands shake as he takes the baby from her, even though she guides him the entire time, adjusting his arms so that the baby is settled perfectly into the crook of his elbow, his little head supported and upright. 

But after a deep breath, he finds that her help is superfluous. Despite his nerves, there’s something intrinsic about this: his first time holding this little human that’s _ his_. Half his DNA. Half of his heart and soul. Nothing has ever felt so natural to him, ever. 

Harry is watching him with tears gathering in his eyes, but before Jeff can ask what’s wrong, another nurse is pulling the top half of Harry’s hospital gown down and propping him up with pillows. 

“It’s up to you, how you want to do this,” the nurse says. “Everyone likes different positions, and once you get the hang of it, you can decide which one you prefer, but for now, I’m gonna show you this way.” 

Once again, Jeff’s attention is split. His eyes keep flicking back and forth between the baby in his arms and Harry, who’s holding their other son close to his chest and using a single finger to gently stroke the baby’s cheek, near his mouth. 

“See how his lips are moving now? He knows what to do. Just like that, don’t force him—just help him and guide him. You want his chin tucked up close to you and his head tilted back a bit.” 

Harry lets out a soft noise of surprise and then a laugh. “Jesus. He’s stronger than he looks.” 

He looks at Jeff as he says it, a soft smile playing at his lips. Jeff waggles his eyebrows at him. 

“Good,” the nurse says. “You’ll both get better at it with every feeding. He’ll let you know when he’s done, and if he seems cranky or upset, his latch might be off or he might just be sucking and not getting anything. But right now, he seems pretty okay. Are you in any sort of pain?” 

Harry’s gaze goes a tad unfocused as he thinks. “...No. Not really. Just feels a bit...weird.” 

“That’s perfectly normal. It’ll get better over time. But you should never, ever feel any pain while they still don’t have teeth. Pain can be a sign that you have an infection or an inflamed duct.” 

The nurses file out of the room, offering Harry and Jeff some private time and promising to return in a bit to check up on them. 

“All good over there?” Jeff asks. 

Harry sighs and doesn’t take his eyes off the baby at his chest. “Yeah. Hey, did you bring the list?” 

“Yeah it’s in the go-bag.” 

“Okay. Good. I guess...we’ll just deal with it later and _ wow _ he is _ really _strong for someone who isn’t even an hour old yet.” Harry winces and sucks in air through his teeth.

“The nurse said—hit your call button.” 

“It’s not that. He’s just scratching me. I think...I think I’m actually bleeding a little,” Harry says with a laugh. 

Their baby’s fist is curling and uncurling between Harry’s pectorals, evidently getting a little too enthusiastic with his fingernails. “Baby talons,” Jeff says proudly. “He takes after you already.”

A short while later, the same nurse from earlier returns and helps Harry switch babies, passing Baby A to Jeff while Baby B is settled against Harry’s front.

Baby A is asleep, evidently milk drunk and exhausted by being so perfect. Jeff holds him just as carefully as his brother, but more confident now that he’s not worried about breaking them. They’re just so small and new, with their pink skin and tiny features. Jeff is so distracted watching the baby’s mouth twitch as he snoozes that he misses the nurse leaving them again. 

When he looks up, Harry appears to be deep in thought, his eyebrows heavy and furrowed. Jeff leaves him be, relishing in the peacefulness of the room. He isn’t going to take this for granted: this nice, quiet time, where no one is crying or upset or in pain. 

“Babe,” Jeff whispers when he notices Harry starting to nod off. “Hey. Just a few more minutes and then you can take the longest nap you want.” 

Harry’s eyes quickly flutter open, clumsily rubbing at them with his free hand. “Sorry. Sorry, ‘m awake.” 

*

Jeff might have lied a bit when he told Harry he could sleep. 

It’s just that their family has been waiting downstairs very patiently, and he has to let them up at some point so that Allison will stop sending him increasingly threat-oriented text messages. 

Anne is the first one to come in and she starts crying as soon as she passes the threshold. Jeff isn’t sure if it was the sight of Harry, the babies, or some combination of both (he doubts it has anything to do with himself but he could be wrong). 

Harry perks up considerably when she walks in, a wide grin stretching across his tired face. 

“Hi, Mom. Well, Nana now.” 

Anne rushes over to him and cups both of his cheeks, kissing him on his forehead. “Oh, look at you. And—oh my _ goodness_. _ Harry_. Boy? Girl?” 

“Boy. Both boys, Mom. _ Two of them_.” 

Anne glances over at Jeff, smiling at him with the same dimple Harry has, and hopefully these little boys will inherit as well. He shrugs playfully. “We’re gonna have to talk to Dr. Suntag, because I don’t think I agreed on two boys.” 

The truth is, though, Jeff isn’t bothered at all. He’s just happy they have ten fingers and ten toes, everything in working order. Harry could’ve squeezed out two squirrels and he would’ve been ecstatic. 

Harry makes a face. “_Heeeyyy_. That’s not nice. You’re lucky they can’t understand you yet.” 

Anne takes the baby from Harry and looks positively enamored holding her first grandchild, staring down at him in awe. Jeff gets it. He feels the exact same way. 

“Do they have names yet?” she asks, stroking over the downy hairs on the top of the baby’s head. 

Jeff and Harry look at each other. “Uh, no. Not yet,” Jeff says. 

“We have a list. Well, two lists. We both made one and cross compared, so there’s a few that we both liked. But we still haven’t made any real decisions,” Harry explains. 

“I waited a bit, after you were born. But I had to put something down on your birth certificate, so I just picked the first one I could remember liking.” Anne makes a slow journey around the room, bouncing the baby slightly with gentle steps, barely taking her eyes off him.

On Jeff’s chest still, their other baby is snoozing away. He adjusts his position a bit, as the chair he’s on isn’t very comfortable, keeping a hand on the baby’s blanket-covered back, steady and secure. 

“Well…” Harry starts and trails off. He raises his eyebrows at Jeff. “We might as well. We’re gonna have to come up with something eventually.”

Jeff swallows. He was hoping for a bit more time, but Harry’s right. He nods. “Yeah. Let’s—why not.”

So Harry unfolds their wrinkled and coffee-stained sheets of paper, and flattens them out on his lap. He scans both pages, tracing his pointer finger over different spots, occasionally humming to himself. 

“Mom, can I look at him really quick? I just wanna see what suits him.”

Anne brings the baby back over to Harry and transfers him into his waiting arms. Harry settles into holding him perfectly, like an old pro, like he didn’t just give birth only a few hours ago. 

“Hmm.” Harry knuckles over the baby’s cheek, tender and soft. “Are you a little Elliot? Or how about an Isaac?” he asks almost in a whisper. 

The baby, of course, doesn’t respond. He must do something cute, though, because Harry’s eyes go wide as he smiles. “No? That’s okay. Let’s see...what do you think about the name Eli?”

Watching the two of them together and hearing the name, Jeff feels something settle in his chest. Harry must feel it too, because he looks up at Jeff with glittering eyes. 

“I think he likes it,” Harry breathes. 

Anne is smiling, too. “That’s a good one. Nice and simple.”

“Eli. Eli Azoff.” Jeff tries it out, getting a feel for the cadence and rhythm. It’s surreal. They’re picking out names for _ their children_. 

“Eli Cameron Azoff,” Harry says decisively. 

“Oh God. Cam’s gonna be insufferable now.” 

Harry smiles and doesn’t argue. “What do you think, though? You like it?”

“Yeah. I—yeah. It’s great.” It hasn’t quite clicked yet, that these sorts of things are permanent (kind of, mostly). This isn’t tossing around names over dinner and trying to see who can come up with the most ridiculous one. This is the real deal. 

“And his brother?” Harry asks. 

Jeff looks at his sleeping face to see if some type of divine intervention might take pity on his inability to produce coherent thoughts when put on the spot. Except, his mouth starts moving before he even realizes what’s happening. 

“Jude,” he blurts. “I—he looks like a Jude. To me. It’s okay if you don’t—”

“That’s perfect,” Harry says. “I love that name. I starred it on my list.”

Jeff actually didn’t know that, but it just felt right in the moment. “Edward? For a middle name?” he suggests. 

Harry’s answering grin is all the confirmation he needs. 

With watery eyes, Anne says, “Eli Cameron and Jude Edward. How _ lovely_. You two…” She starts with Harry, kissing all over his forehead and cheeks, before she makes her way over to Jeff and gives him the same treatment. Privately, though, she whispers to Jeff, “It all worked out in the end, didn’t it?”

He couldn’t agree more. 

Later, his parents arrive, and the babies get passed around to everyone, gracious and cooperative already. Their friends come to visit. Even little Felix is there, who’s growing up fast, and is gentle with the twins, listening intently as Harry assures him that they’ll all be the best of friends someday. 

The room gets a bit cramped with the sheer number of people in it, surely violating some type of safety code, but he’s surrounded by his favorite people, showing off the two beautiful babies that him and Harry created and he wouldn’t have it any other way. 

*

If it weren’t for them having multiples, they might have been released the same day. But as it stands, Harry and the boys have to stay overnight, and of course, Jeff wouldn’t be anywhere else. 

It’s mostly precautionary, given that both babies are perfectly healthy and there were no complications. Harry is making great progress, after finally being able to eat and getting some rest. If all goes well, they’ll all be allowed to go home tomorrow morning. 

However, there is one thing on the docket that Harry has yet to do: get up and move around. His epidural has worn off completely, so he’s in the clear for walking and going to the bathroom on his own. Getting him to actually do it is where the trouble starts. 

“C’mon. Doctor’s orders, not mine. Don’t give me that look.”

Sitting on the edge of the hospital bed, Harry is pouting. “She didn’t say I have to do it right now,” he grumbles.

“It’s the perfect time, though. It’s just you and me. C’mon, babe,” Jeff urges. The babies are in the nursery so they can be watched while Harry freshens up. He just needs to cooperate. 

“God, I’m fucking _ sore_.” With his hands braced on the edge of the bed, Harry pushes himself up into a standing position. He wobbles a bit, leaning a little too far forward, until Jeff holds him steady. 

“Well, I would assume so. Nice—there you go. See? You got it.” 

Harry levels him with an unimpressed stare, wincing slightly as he takes a couple of shuffling steps, leaning on Jeff for support. “It feels like I shit out a watermelon. A big one. Not one of those dinky, little ones you can get at the grocery store.” 

Jeff frowns. “Unpleasant and upsetting. Thank you for that.” 

“Can you help me get to the bathroom? I think I need to pee.” 

Harry ends up needing help with more than just getting to the bathroom. He tries standing for a bit with an arm braced against the wall, but he’s still tired and weak and his bladder doesn’t seem to be getting the memo that the catheter isn’t there anymore. So Jeff helps him sit, getting him off his feet to mitigate some of the pressure. Except he quickly discovers that his new position isn’t the most comfortable for his stitches, where he’s still tender and swollen. 

Jeff stands in front of him and urges Harry to rest his head against his lower stomach, giving Jeff full access to his shoulders and neck. He uses his hands to rub over his tense muscles and circles his thumbs in an effort to help him relax. 

“You want me to pull up waterfall sounds on Youtube?” Jeff asks. 

Harry groans against Jeff’s belly button and pinches his thigh. “Don’t be mean to me.” 

“I’m not. I’m _ simply _trying to help.” 

“Help by being quiet,” Harry says flatly.

“Yes, your majesty.” 

It takes a few minutes, but Harry’s body eventually cooperates and he’s able to relieve himself, and of course, Jeff claps and whoops in celebration.

“Jeffrey, _ quiet_. There are other people in this wing, you know. They might be trying to sleep.” Harry’s tone is scolding but he can’t completely hide his laughter. 

The twins are returned to them not long after, while Harry is taking another nap and Jeff is responding to his back log of texts, mostly well wishes and congratulations from friends and family, as well as one single text from Cam that reads: _ now ur dad bod is finally appropriate_.

With Harry down for the count, it’s Jeff’s job to handle both of the diaper changes. He finds himself in awe yet again, at how small they are with their tiny, bendy chicken legs and little wrists. They don’t have a lot of fat on them yet, which he’s been told is normal for most babies and especially multiples. Apparently they’ll lose a bit of weight in the first couple weeks, but will hopefully thicken up a bit and gain the wrinkles and rolls that most people associate with healthy infants soon after. 

For now, though, Jeff is extra careful as he moves and lifts them, adjusting their limbs into appropriate positions so he can wipe up Eli’s back, as he’s decided that pooing enough for it to leak out of his diaper was a great idea. It’s messy and doesn’t look like anything a human should be able to produce, and he gets it done as quickly as possible. 

After the twins are changed into fresh onesies and re-wrapped in their swaddles, Jeff gets set up in the chair that’s become his home over the past twenty-four hours or so. He carefully leans back with both boys resting on his chest. Jude falls asleep after only a few minutes of Jeff alternating between patting his butt and rubbing his thumb over his back. Eli, on the other hand, is very awake and alert, staring up at Jeff with big dark blue eyes. 

Keeping his voice pitched low, Jeff says, “Hi, bud. Hello. How’re you holding up? All right? I can imagine it’s pretty taxing, being evicted from your nice little apartment and then being forced into clothes and hats.” 

Eli burbles, his lips smacking together as he works on sticking his tongue out. 

Jeff nods sagely. “I agree. I hope you’ll like it better when we take you home. You and your brother get your own room, and your own cribs. Daddy already bought a bunch of toys for you, that are apparently supposed to be good for learning and _ stimulating your senses _ while still being pretty fun. Which I guess we’ll see about that. ” 

Eli’s face scrunches up and Jeff is afraid for a second that he’s going to start crying, but then he just yawns and settles, his little cheek warm against Jeff’s chest. 

“Okay, little dude. I’ll stop talking your ear off. Have a nice nap. I love you.”

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - June 19, 2020

Their hospital stay comes to an end the next day in the early afternoon. Harry is cleared with a clean bill of health and the boys are bid farewell by the lovely nursing staff who made sure they were safe and cared for. 

Harry is very particular about the outfits he dresses them in, thoughtfully moving their little bodies and smiling despite how uncooperative they are as slips shirts over their heads and guides their legs into pants. 

Eli is a little cranky, fussing while harry adjusts his hat and mittens (so he doesn’t scratch himself), whereas Jude falls asleep while Harry is putting his socks on. 

There’s more paperwork to fill out, seemingly endless amounts of signatures and initials, then _ finally _ they’re allowed to pack the boys into their car seats. 

Predictably Harry is still very sore, waddling around in his mesh underwear and taking much longer than usual to put on his own clothes. He turns down Jeff’s offers of help, and despite his worries, Jeff is actually happy to see Harry back to his stubborn self. 

They get loaded into the car, where Harry sits in the back seat between Jude and Eli, even though he’s a bit too tall and his long legs are folded up in a way that surely isn’t comfortable. 

Nonetheless, Harry beams the entire time, his head on a swivel as he chats animatedly to the babies flanking him. Jeff good-naturedly weathers quite a few honks from people behind him, but he gets them home in one piece. 

In the grand scheme of things, they weren’t away from home for very long. But it feels different as they cross the threshold. It _ is _different; they’re back with precious cargo. The air is tinged with something he can’t place, this mix of unfamiliar and settled, like things have finally clicked into their rightful spots. 

The rest of the day is mostly uneventful. Jeff makes peanut butter and jelly sandwiches for Harry and himself that they eat while the boys snooze in their bassinets. They both keep a watchful eye on them, even though it’s nearly impossible to look away from them anyway. 

Jeff knows that shine is going to wear off eventually, probably sooner rather than later, but he wants to cherish these moments. Everything is so fresh and new and exciting. Scary, too, but he’s trying to think about the good things. 

Looking at Harry, who’s sitting next to him on the couch, Jeff sees something similar reflected in his eyes. This, _ Holy shit! Is this really happening? _

“Are you happy?” Harry asks, and Jeff hears the echo of the very same question from months ago, when they didn’t know if they’d ever end up here, like this. 

It’s as easy as breathing, saying, “So happy. You have no idea.”

Jeff takes Harry’s hand, lacing their fingers together. Only a few feet away, Jude and Eli are starting to wake up, stretching their arms and legs, making quiet noises. All of the fighting, the crying, and yelling—it’s all been worth it. For this. For everything. 

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - July 10, 2020

Sleep. Wake up. Change diapers. Fix a bottle. Sleep. Wake up. 

That has been Jeff’s schedule lately. He can count on one hand the number of times he’s showered. The sheets on his and Harry’s bed haven’t been changed in God knows how long. Jeff measures time in feeding intervals now, which seem to happen near-constantly. 

He shouldn’t complain, though. He has it a bit easier than Harry, who has turned into a full-time human breastaurant. Jude took to nursing like it’s his job (in a way, it is). Eli, however, they were quick to discover would not be so easily swayed. 

Harry’s been trying not to take it personally. Or at least he’s been trying to make it appear as though he’s not taking it personally for Jeff’s benefit. It’s kind of difficult to hide things from someone when you’ve recently turned into hermits together. 

Despite the close quarters and sleep deprivation, Harry and Jeff’s relationship has never been better. They’re on a mostly even playing field now: they get up with each other in the middle of the night, they get excited over things like a good post-feeding burp, and they’re quickly mastering the art of the assembly line diaper change.

They’ve been out of the house a few times, for checkups and a single walk with the boys in their stroller that almost ended in disaster when it started to downpour halfway down the road. People keep coming to visit them—Anne, Shelli and Irving, Glenne, Mitch—bringing food and desserts and making it so that they almost haven’t had to cook at all since they’ve come home from the hospital. 

Anne actually just left. She was more than happy to take the boys off their hands for an hour, letting Jeff get some laundry done while Harry showered. 

Now they’re back on duty, though, and Jeff is feeling the full effects of being woken up eight times the previous night. Harry, too, for that matter—he sat down on the edge of the bed in his fuzzy purple bathrobe when he got out of the bathroom, and Jeff is pretty sure he might actually be asleep now. 

On his way to the bedroom, Jeff grabs two glasses of water, one for himself and one for Harry. But when he passes by the nursery, he notices that the boys aren’t in their cribs like they were five minutes ago. 

He doesn’t worry, because he doesn’t have to wonder where they might be. He finds Harry in their bedroom lying on his side with Jude and Eli in the middle of the bed, already dressed in their pajamas, wiggly and burbling. 

Jeff pauses in the doorway and feels his eyes well up. He’s not usually a crier (that’s more Harry’s field of expertise, at any given moment), but it sneaks up on him, like a surprise wave at the beach that knocks you over. 

It’s just that the sight of them hits Jeff right in his solar plexus, this instant assault of love and affection that takes his breath away. 

Harry notices him standing there and smiles. “Are you just gonna stand there? C’mere. Eli really likes the stuffed giraffe you got him.”

Jeff quickly wipes at his eyes and crawls up onto the bed, stretching out on the other side of the boys. “It’s a hit, huh?”

“Watch this.” Harry picks up the stuffed animal in question and holds it above Jude and Eli, making it dance mid-air, adding sound effects for emphasis. 

Both boys orient their gazes to the giraffe, tracking it as it moves. It’s been a newer development; they’ve gone from being largely unresponsive to actively looking when Jeff and Harry talk and engage with them. Now they have the appearance of actually paying attention to what’s said to them, and evidently they enjoy stuffed giraffes. 

“Would you look at that,” Jeff says. Harry’s eyes find his and they both smile at each other. 

Objectively, things aren’t perfect. So far, they’ve been peed on, puked on, and up to their elbows in dirty diapers. They’re still learning and figuring things out. But that’s the beauty of it. Things don’t _ need _to be perfect to be good. Everything is allowed to be a work in progress. They’re going to make mistakes. They’re going to bicker and fight and make each other crazy sometimes. But at the end of the day, they’re doing all of those things together. 

Jeff can remember the very first conversation they had about starting a family. When he thinks about the course of their lives from that moment, to now, with their two kids nestled comfortably between them, Jeff finds that reality is better than any cookie cutter version of perfection. The kind of 'perfect' that's messy and flawed but made with love is the kind of perfect that Jeff wants. It’s the kind of ‘perfect’ that will last a lifetime.


	6. Epilogue

***

23 Tristin Drive - Anaheim - April 27, 2021 

Children, Jeff has decided, are both a blessing and a curse.

There has been no greater joy in his life than getting to know the boys. Since the day they brought them home he’s watched them turn into miniature people with their own personalities and quirks. Jude (like Harry) seems to have a distaste for broccoli, while Eli (like Jeff) would be happiest if he could put peanut butter on literally anything. They’re sweet and fun and always teaching him something new. He loves them with his whole heart, if not more, so full up with pride and emotion sometimes that he fears he might burst apart at the seams. 

But he also has a bone to pick with them, despite the fact that their language skills seem to be limited to requesting snacks and telling himself and Harry ‘no’ at every available opportunity. Because the thing is, Jeff has a plan. Not a very concrete one, but a plan nonetheless, and he hasn’t been able to follow through with it yet because he keeps getting interrupted. 

First it was an actual poo-splosion when they made the switch to solid food that left Jeff and Harry wondering how one baby (Eli) could produce so much disgustingness in such a short period of time. It was everywhere. It was messy. They went through a lot of Clorox and bleach. And Jeff vowed to try again another time.

Then it was a virus that left the whole house miserable. Common colds for everyone and a collective seven hours of sleep between the four of them for almost a week. By the end of it, Jeff was nearly delirious and found himself cradling a pineapple in the kitchen, trying to rock it to sleep. Meanwhile, Harry was down the hall, equally delirious amid a mountain of tissues and sneezing into a pillow to muffle the sound as to not wake the boys, who were dozing fitfully for the first time all day. Jeff, again, told himself that he’d do it later, once his pineapple baby was asleep and he took some Benadryl and a nap. 

His latest obstacle has also been child-related, except this time it’s of the unborn variety. The universe decided to be both very funny and very difficult, because somehow Harry is pregnant again with their third baby. It’s just one this time—thankfully, because while the two-for-one deal was wonderful, they aren’t exactly rushing for another set of twins anytime soon. They weren’t rushing for _any more _ children anytime soon, but somehow one was mysteriously created the old-fashioned way after an innocent Christmas Eve romp in Harry’s mother’s guest room. 

They weren’t worried about a condom for obvious reasons, but mostly because it simply wasn’t on their radar. Harry was still nursing. He’d only had one heat-like day a few weeks prior that never fully came to fruition, as his hormones weren’t quite back to normal yet. It didn’t seem like something that could happen. 

That is, until Harry went for a routine checkup and was startled to discover that his upset stomach was morning sickness and his five pound weight gain was stubborn-baby-weight-turned-actual-baby. 

Jeff was going to propose. He had everything set up: Jude and Eli were in their finest evening wear (the least stained onesies in their wardrobe and pants that kinda-sorta fit them properly), Jeff had made a nice pasta dinner, and the ring box that had spent many months hiding in his sock drawer was finally in his pocket. 

Then Harry came home and broke the news and flipped the whole house upside down. They cried. They laughed. They ate cold fettuccine alfredo and gave the boys a bath after they ended up covered in creamy cheese sauce. They told each other that no matter what, they’d make it work. 

That was four months ago.

Jeff has tried to ignore the staccato ticking of the imaginary clock that follows him around everywhere, but it’s hard to not think about it when Harry is already starting to show again and the twins are sprouting up like weeds. They’re not quite walking yet, but they can do a mean caterpillar crawl and are surprisingly dexterous when it comes to evading putting on clothes and shoes. 

Their family is growing, _ literally_, and Jeff wants to marry Harry more than anything in the world. 

He has a sneaking suspicion that Harry knows what he’s up to, as he’s recently become prone to giving Jeff a look that says ‘don’t you dare’ whenever they have a moment alone and Jeff gears up to say something. 

He’ll complain loudly in front of the mirror, frowning at his reflection. “Was I this fat with the twins? Look at this. I’m a blimp already.”

Jeff will sigh, say something like, “You’re not fat. You’re pregnant. And I think you look lovely.”

That usually gets Harry to soften a bit, and he’ll saunter over (well, maybe not saunter, but a very sexy waddle) and sit on Jeff’s lap. Let him feel up the belly he’s given him a second time, even though Jeff knows it’s a distraction technique. 

Today he won’t be foiled. 

He’s debated the best way to go about it many times. On the couch, watching a movie, Jeff has thought about grabbing the ring box and tossing it to Harry casually, asking, “So what do you think about getting married?” in between bites of popcorn. Or at a fancy dinner, where he can get down on one knee in front of everyone and maybe score them a free dessert. Simple and fancy and everything in between, Jeff has played out the scenario in his head and decided against it. 

The thing is, they’re both simple people. Sure, Harry is a little high maintenance sometimes, but he’s also the type of person who appreciates candor. He loves the nights that they’re both home for dinner, and they can sit at the table with the boys to share a meal. He still gets all blushy and pink when Jeff tells him he’s beautiful. He always thanks Jeff for the little things he does, like setting out pajamas for him when he works late or warming up his car in the morning during winter. 

In return, his gestures of affection are often understated as well. No fanfare or extravagance. He makes sure to always buy the cereal Jeff likes when he goes to the grocery store, even if they already have three boxes in the pantry. He takes care of Jeff when he’s sick without being asked. He’s given Jeff two beautiful children and is allowing his body to change again as he creates another. 

With Jude and Eli in the back, asleep in the car seats after a long day at Nana’s, Jeff makes a decision. 

*

Dinner’s in the oven. The boys have been baby-gated into their play area where they’re being uncharacteristically cooperative, babbling back and forth to each other while they construct a block tower. Ideally Jeff would like to take a shower, since he’s been nervously sweating all afternoon, but he doesn’t want to leave the boys unsupervised for that long, so a quick splash of water on his face and a deodorant reapplication will have to suffice. 

Harry’s due home in a few minutes, given that he got out on time and traffic isn’t too bad. Well, and assuming that he didn’t decide to stop at Target, which has become all too frequent lately, as he can’t seem to stop himself from buying more baby clothes like they aren’t already swimming in them. 

However, Jeff doesn’t have to wonder for very long. He’s in the middle of pacing across the living room for the umpteenth time when Harry’s car pulls into the driveway.

Jeff opens the front door for him before he can even finish getting to the top step, confusion flashing across his features before they settle into something more comfortable, an easy smile that makes his dimple appear. 

“Hi? What are you doing?” Harry asks, not unpleasantly but clearly curious. 

“Uh, hi. Hello.” Jeff is _ nervous_. He hasn’t felt like this since their first date. With an awkward arm flourish, he holds the door open. “Come in. Dinner is almost ready."

Harry’s eyes narrow as he walks past Jeff and into the house. “Are you okay? You’re acting weird. Like, weirder than usual.”

Jeff blanches. “_What_? No. I’m fine.” 

Harry hums but doesn’t argue and instead turns his attention to the boys. They start to bounce and clap and yell excitedly, beckoning Harry over with the wild gesticulations of infants who haven’t quite mastered fine motor control. 

“Are those my babies?” Harry asks, dropping his work bag and throwing his arms up in the air.

“Hi! Hi hi hi!” Jude shouts, waiting very patiently behind the gate while Eli works on scaling it. 

“C’mere, monkey.” Jeff scoops Eli up before he can get very far and blows a raspberry on his belly just to hear him laugh. 

Jude seems very content in Harry’s arms, his head resting on Harry’s shoulder, legs around his waist and hint of belly. Two peas in a pod. 

“How was your day, lovie? Good?” 

Jude nods. “Good.” 

“Nana said they had pasta and sweet potatoes for lunch. And that Eli only took his diaper off _ twice_,” Jeff says, tossing Eli up in the air and catching him. 

Harry snorts. “Better than last week.”

Dinner goes off without a hitch, even if most of the boys’ food ends up on the floor. Evidently they’re not big fans of green beans, no matter how offended Harry is that they don’t appreciate his efforts. 

They send the boys off to go play again while Jeff and Harry clear the table. Harry’s still in his lavender scrubs, washing plates in the sink. Jeff is sure that he probably wants to get changed and take a shower before settling into bed, and that these circumstances maybe aren’t the most romantic. But Jeff understands perfectly, in this very moment, that there’s no better time than the present. That if he keeps trying to craft a perfect environment and control every aspect of how it goes, he’ll continue to put it off. Because nothing is ever going to be perfect. That’s just how life is. 

He makes sure all of the kitchen chairs are pushed in before says, “Hey, I’ll finish that up. Why don’t you go put on some music.”

Harry easily lets Jeff step into his place, quickly drying off his hands before he heads for the living room. “What do we feel like tonight?” he asks, just like Jeff was hoping he would. 

“Madman Across the Water?” Jeff suggests, casually, like his hands aren’t shaking so bad he’s worried about breaking their dinnerware. His heart’s about to climb out his throat, practically. But he finds himself smiling, waiting. 

He hears Harry’s gasp as he finds the strategically placed ring box on the shelf of the CD rack, in front of the album that contains the song they had their very first kiss to. It’s not fireworks on a private beach or an airplane writing clouds in the sky, but it’s something. And if the way Harry rushes back into the kitchen to hug Jeff from behind is any indication, he thinks Harry must like it. 

“I can’t move my arms with you holding me like this,” Jeff points out lightly. He can feel Harry’s cheek squished against his back, in between his shoulder blades, warm and maybe the slightest bit damp. “Are you _ crying_?”

Harry sniffles. “_No_.”

Clutched in Harry’s right hand is the box: small, black velvet, and fairly innocuous. Jeff shrugs, trying to loosen Harry’s arms. “Can you let me go, so I can at least turn the sink off?”

Harry steps back, allowing Jeff to turn around and face him. “Do you mean it?”

Jeff can’t help but laugh. “Of course I mean it. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t. What do you take me for?”

Harry ducks his head and looks at Jeff from under his lashes. “Technically, you haven’t asked yet.”

And so Jeff hasn’t. He rolls his eyes playfully and gets down on one knee. Despite all of his ponderings over the last few months, he’s never thought about a speech, and he’s regretting it a bit now. “Uh, well. You already know the question. So, Harry Styles, how do you feel about getting married? To me?”

Harry starts crying again before Jeff can finish, nodding his head enthusiastically. He gives Jeff the ring box, has him open it and pull out the simple white gold band, and holds out his shaking left hand. 

Jeff hesitates, raising his eyebrows deliberately, the ring poised at the tip of Harry’s fourth finger. “Can I have an answer?”

“It’s pretty obvious, isn’t it? _ Yes_, you doofus. Put it on me.” Harry’s cheeks are wet and the tip of his nose is red, and Jeff loves him so, _ so _much. 

Jeff feels like he has firecrackers in his veins lighting him up from the inside as he slides the ring onto Harry’s finger. It fits perfectly. It looks like it belongs there. 

Harry’s beaming at him. He pulls Jeff back onto his feet and kisses him senseless, all soft lips and warm wet tongue. It’s perhaps a little less PG than advisable when their kids are only a few feet away from them. 

Which reminds Jeff. He holds Harry by the hips to keep him at bay, despite how much he wants to continue down the path they’re currently on. 

“What?” Harry asks, panting a bit. 

“Now we can have at least one legitimate child,” Jeff says. 

Harry’s look of happiness slides off his face and transforms into one of horror. “Who said anything about getting married before this baby is out? Not me.”

Jeff laughs. “C’mon. You’ll look cute with a bump in a tux.”

Harry’s arms drop from their spot around Jeff’s neck. “Absolutely not.”

Rubbing over Harry’s sides, over the bump in question, Jeff juts out his bottom lip in a pout. “Harry...babe. Love of my life. Don’t you wanna marry me sooner rather than later?”

Harry’s smile appears sweet, but Jeff knows that appearances aren’t everything. “You should’ve thought about it before you _knocked me up_ _again_.”

“Hey, it was a little more romantic than that. You seemed to enjoy yourself.” 

“Yeah, and if the boys didn’t need a bath, I might’ve let you talk me into a _ massage _ tonight. But then you started up that ridiculous talk. So _ now _ I think I’m _ also _ gonna take a bath and admire my new ring. By _ myself._”

Eyebrows halfway up his forehead, Jeff asks, “Seriously?”

Harry shrugs, coy. “If you do bedtime duty, maybe I’ll reconsider.”

“Done.” 

In the living room, Jude and Eli are none the wiser about what just transpired, playing with their singalong keyboard and making quite a bit of noise. They don’t notice the new addition to Harry’s left hand, but they do light up when Harry and Jeff join them on the floor for an off-key, family rendition of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star. 

Outrage aside, Jeff can smell Harry’s bluff from a mile away. All Jeff will have to do is get Jude and Eli matching tuxes to wear and Harry will be sold. He can see it already: looking out to the audience at the altar, their kids at the very front, with their third between them. 

A weight has been lifted off Jeff’s shoulders. The ring has been burning a hole in his pocket for what feels like forever now, and he might have underestimated how wonderful and relieving it would feel to finally ask Harry the big question and have him say yes. 

On the carpet, Jeff places his hand overtop of Harry’s. Under his palm, he can feel the coolness of the band. In a way, it’s superficial. They don’t need a piece of metal to reflect their feelings for each other, but boy, it feels good. 

“Dada,” Jude says. “Dada, Dada.” 

Eli slams his fists against the keyboard, letting out a loud, happy shriek. 

Harry looks down at their entwined hands and then back up at Jeff, and all is right in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!


End file.
